The Bourne Vengeance
by enigma939
Summary: COMPLETE. Novel-verse. For years, Jason Bourne believed that he had rid himself and his family of the specter of Carlos. But now the Jackal's successor has struck, and Bourne must once again re-explore his past in order to prepare for this lethal encounter...
1. Prologue: Family Matters

**The Bourne Vengeance**

**Prologue: Family Matters**

**A/N:** This fic is in many ways, the _magnum opus_ of my Bourne fics, since it's the longest, most elaborate one I've written and I've been working at it for months. This fic is essentially a loose sequel of sorts to _The Bourne Identity _novel by Ludlum, so I'd highly recommend you read that before you read this story. Its set in the present day however, so therefore I've had to take a few liberties with the timeline, but the essence of the _Identity _story has been preserved. There will also be references to the other Ludlum books and Lustbader continuation novels, and therefore, mild SPOILERS.

_Ontario, Canada_

Today, he was not Jason Bourne.

He was not the legendary assassin; a myth who had left a trail of corpses stretching across the globe. He was not the nemesis, and eventual vanquisher, of Carlos the Jackal. He was not the one-time elite CIA operative, the product of Alexander Conklin's Treadstone project.

Today, he was David Webb. A widower twice over. A father to two children.

A ghost of a man who was.

But ghost or no ghost, he _had _to concentrate. He had to focus. He had to be that man again, if only for a short while. If only for the sake of his son and his daughter.

Jamie and Allison.

It was the anniversary of Marie's death and he knew he simply could not put off this visit. He had already missed both of the children's birthdays, much to their disappointment...and much to the chagrin of his brother-in-law, Johnny St. Jacques.

Johnny had never really understood why the kids couldn't live with him. Or why he couldn't even visit them regularly. But then, few men understood him and the world he lived in. A world which could not be allowed to touch Jamie and Allison Webb's reasonably normal existence.

There was a time when he'd said it was for the children's protection. He had too many enemies, known and unknown. Any moment, some nemesis from a forgotten past might resurface and target his family...hence the need to keep the family at a safe distance, and _then_ some...

But over the last few years he'd wondered if that was truly the answer. After all, his greatest enemy, Carlos, was dead. Severus Domna, the secret cabal he'd most recently thwarted, was in no state to initiate _any _kind of activity. The Secretary of State who'd wanted him dead had been discredited and was now in federal prison. And furthermore, he was entitled to all the protection he could ever want, both for himself and for the kids! The men in Washington might have hated him, wanted nothing more than to forget he ever existed, but they were still entitled, morally and legally, to protect him and his family if asked.

No, the real reason was himself.

After Marie's death, he slowly but surely come to the horrifying realisation that he wasn't David Webb. He _had _been Webb in a forgotten lifetime. He _had _been Webb for Marie's sake, but with her passing, it seemed that Webb had lost his sense of purpose, his will to _exist_. He found himself living and breathing a lie-the lie of the mild-mannered academic, the Georgetown University professor and linguistics expert. Above all, the lie of a so-called 'family man'...

And in stark contrast, the shadow world of Jason Bourne became increasingly more real, increasingly more vivid, with each passing day. There was an emptiness inside him now, a void which could never be filled, and the thrill of action and the shock of adrenaline at least briefly relieved him of his psychological aches. In the field, where one was perpetually a hair's breadth away from death, there was no time to brood; to reflect on who one was and what one's purpose was...There was only one thought, one goal-survival.

But whatever else he had forgotten, he knew he could never truly afford to forget he had a family. Hence the irregular, but necessary, visits to the St. Jacques family ranch in Ontario.

His latest visit, which began around three days ago, was now at an end. And as he kissed his daughter goodbye, his son asked him, yet again, the one question which it always pained him to answer.

"Why do you have to leave, Dad?" Jamie Webb asked.

He sighed. As always, there was no easy answer...none that was completely true in any case. So he lied, "Because I have to get back to work".

"Where? You're not teaching at the university anymore are you?" Jamie asked.

"No", he replied.

"Are...are people trying to _kill _you Dad?" Jamie asked anxiously.

There...he had said it. The one thing they had both carefully skirted over in all their conversations. There was no denying it of course. Jamie had once experienced first-hand the innate tensions and dangers of Jason Bourne's shadow world. Allison thankfully had been too young to recollect anything...

"Don't worry", he said, trying hard to give his son a reassuring smile. "I can take care of myself. And Uncle John will take care of you". He knelt down to his son and gently touched his face. "You're _safe _here...both you and Allison. You have nothing to be afraid of".

And with those words, David Webb picked up his overnight bag and prepared to leave.

As he made his way to his hired car, parked out front, he nodded at Agent Johnson whom he passed near the front door. Johnson was the latest Canadian Intelligence operative assigned as head of the security detail protecting the St. Jacques ranch. Marie St. Jacques had been one of the Canadian government's finest economists and Ottawa, mindful of all she had been through, was therefore more than willing to ensure the security of her children.

Johnny was leaning against his car. When he approached, the two men faced each other, in a scene born of futility they had both enacted countless times in the last few years.

"I don't suppose there's any point in asking you to stay a bit longer", Johnny said.

He didn't answer that. He couldn't. Neither did he want to put it plainly in words, nor did Johnny truly want to hear the words uttered.

Johnny sighed. "Dammit David. You know I love the kids...I don't mind them being here in the least. But...they've already lost their mother. These kids _need _to know they have a father. And it's going to take more than the occasional visit to convince them of that!"

"You know I wish it wasn't this way Johnny", he said.

"Yeah I know. But think about it David. These kids are going to be in danger anyway just by virtue of being...your kids. It's not as though they're going to be any _less _safe with you. Or in _more _danger...whichever way you look at it!"

"Not really Johnny", he replied. "Not all my...enemies...are madmen like Carlos. Some of them have families, loved ones, of their own. They...understand...the need for certain things to remain inviolate...as far as possible". He paused and added, "Bottom line is, they won't target the kids unless absolutely necessary for them. And the chances of that happening are exponentially lesser if I keep away".

Johnny still did not look convinced. "You know David...don't think I don't know what this is all about. Your whole dual identity thing...Jekyll and Hyde. But remember, you can call yourself David Webb, Jason Bourne or any goddamn thing you like, it doesn't change the fact that these are your kids. They are _your _blood. And your place will always be with them".

"Bye Johnny", he said, anxious to put an end to this conversation. Johnny was right of course...and there was nothing else to do but run away from here. Run away from this realisation. Run...like he'd been running for as far back as he could remember.

And as the car pulled out of the drive-way, David Webb vanished from the face of the earth, and Jason Bourne was reborn yet again...

**A/N: **The story starts proper in the next chapter...


	2. Chapter 1: The Meeting

**The Bourne Vengeance**

**Chapter 1: The Meeting**

_Prague, Czechoslovakia_

_Three months later_

The three men who stood in the shadows of the basement of an abandoned office complex spoke in Russian. One man was a prominent figure in the Moscow underworld, suavely dressed in an Italian suit more suited to the finer nightclubs of London than his present surroundings. The other two men were Arabs, dressed in rather coarse business suits. Both men wore beards. One wore a skull-cap and the other wore thick black-rimmed glasses.

"So it is settled then", the skull-capped Arab told the bespectacled one, bringing an end to their meeting. "The first consignment will arrive next Friday in Munich". He spent a few minutes giving details of the elaborate precautions taken to protect the 'merchandise' from the prying eyes of German law enforcement and security agencies. With that, the meeting was adjourned, the bespectacled Arab shook hands with both the Russian mobster and the other Arab, and they all dispersed...stealthily departing from the vicinity of the building and merging into the shadows as was their way.

The bespectacled Arab, having ascertained he was not being followed, did nevertheless walk a considerable distance before he reached for his encrypted cell phone and dialled a secure number. After reciting the pre-arranged identification codes, he was granted access to the one he wished to speak to.

"I've got what you need", he said, his accent changing from Arabic to American virtually mid-speech, even as he stripped away the false beard and wig, and took of the glasses with his free hand. As the conversation progressed, he proceeded to extract the prosthetics he'd been wearing as well, transforming himself every second, bit by bit, into a man visually _very _different from the bespectacled Arab.

"The drop will be at Munich next Friday", said Jason Bourne into the phone. He gave the details.

"Great. Thanks again, Jason", said Soraya Moore. "Head over to Prague Ruzyne, Hanger No. 12, for extraction".

"Thanks but I'll make my own way, Soraya. You know that", Jason replied.

"_Please_ Jason", Soraya insisted. "There are...people who need to get in touch with you. Urgently".

Bourne froze, all his instincts, all his razor-sharp senses, keenly attuned to any possible danger. Something wasn't right...Soraya wasn't levelling with him. And in Bourne's world, the slightest duplicity on the part of _anyone_, friend or foe, was occasion for alarm.

"What's this all about?" he said sharply. "What 'people'? You told me not even your boss knew about my involvement in this op".

"Yes but...these people aren't DOD. They're not even American. They approached Peter and me yesterday requesting us to put them in touch with you. They say they have something you need to know..."

"And what would that be?" Bourne said, wondering now about the identity of these mysterious contacts of Soraya's. Who knew to get in touch with him through Soraya? Who would have information he could possible want? Jason could actually think of a few individuals from his known past...but maybe, this had something to do with the _unknown_ life he had left behind in the Mediterranean so long ago...

"They didn't tell me. They said it's for you. Eyes Only", Soraya said. "They're Interpol, Jason. I think they can be trusted".

_Interpol_. The alarm bells started ringing in his head again. As far as Interpol was concerned, he was an international assassin, an _alleged _rogue CIA operative long disavowed by the US Government; a fugitive wanted in several countries across Europe and Asia. Why would they want to meet him...unless...

Of course! They wanted to _trap _him! That seemed the obvious solution. Staggering in its simplicity...and yet, Bourne knew from experience that the simplest strategies were usually the most effective.

"Jason?" Soraya asked.

"It's a set-up Soraya. A pretty obvious one...but sometimes the obvious ones work best", Jason said. "Don't worry...I'll make my own way back".

"Jason, you're not currently on the Interpol Watch List...you haven't been since your 'death' in Indonesia. Hell, you're no longer on the CIA hit-list either...they've got enough trouble of their own now that Hendricks is breathing down their necks. They don't want to arrest you, and they _definitely _don't want your head. They just want to speak to you. I'll repeat their exact words...they have 'information vital to the safety of yourself and your family'", Soraya explained.

_Safety of yourself and your family_...the words echoed in Jason's head, and gave him room to pause. If it were true...if there was the _slightest _possibility that there was something he needed to know...could he ignore it...could he take that chance?

His family's security was the _reason _he didn't really have one anymore in any functional sense...he couldn't afford to walk away from that responsibility over mere suspicions of danger.

"All right", he told Soraya. "I'll be there".

ooo

It had been a favour to his old friend Soraya Moore, currently co-director of the new Treadstone, operating under the aegis of the DOD. Soraya's sources had told her of a new alliance between certain elements of the Russian Mafia and Islamic extremists in western Europe and the United States; the objective being Moscow arms dealers providing arms to terrorists in Europe, and the US...at a price of course. The negotiations between the Moscow underworld and the terrorist cell had been ongoing for months now and Soraya's agents on the field were unable to get a lead.

That was when she had called in Jason. There was no love lost between Bourne and the American intelligence community. Too often they had used him, manipulated him...even tried to eliminate him. After the death of his friend and mentor Alex Conklin, his relationship with Washington had deteriorated even further. True, there had been others he could trust-the late lamented Martin Lindros, and now Soraya Moore and her co-director Peter Marks...but Bourne was unwilling to be an instrument of Washington anymore. And yet, he'd agreed to accept this mission purely as a favour to Soraya. And, in being honest to himself, he admitted that the yearning for action, for _work_, had been far too strong to resist...

So he had infiltrated the terrorist cell, intercepting their couriers, uncovering their communications. Eventually, he reached an Arab named Mahmoud, one of the chief negotiators of the deal with the Russian Mafia. He took Mahmoud out, and replaced him, putting his skills as a chameleon to the test yet again. He'd now discovered the date and location of the first arms drop in Munich, amongst other intel which would be invaluable to Soraya. Her Treadstone agents on the field would move in and clean up. That wasn't his concern any longer.

But _this_ was...whatever it was...

He reached the airport and moved through Immigration without much difficulty using the Diplomatic passport Soraya had issued him with. He hadn't intended to use it, but he would now.

Soon, he found himself seated in a chartered plane, opposite a man and a woman.

The woman was dressed in a simple yet elegant black suit. She had shoulder-length black hair and piercing blue eyes, and appeared to be in her late twenties. The man beside her was a balding man in his thirties, in a business suit.

"I'm glad you could join us, Mr. Bourne", the woman said as soon as he seated himself opposite her, and accepted the cup of coffee she'd handed him. "My name is Janet Renauld. This is my assistant, Charles Drexel. We're with Interpol, Paris branch...as I'm sure Ms. Moore would have told you".

"A pleasure", Jason replied in a neutral tone. There did not appear to be anything threatening in the least about the pair opposite him. He had already frisked them with his eyes the moment he saw them and they did not appear to be carrying any concealed weapons. There was only one crew member in the cabin at the moment, and she did not appear to be armed either. Whatever this was...it did not seem to be a trap.

The woman leaned back in her seat and stared at him intently, studying his face. "So _this _is what you look like", she said finally. "I've seen photographs of course, but most of them were blurred...and it is well known that you are a virtuoso at disguise."

"Jason Charles Bourne", she continued, as though reciting from a dossier. "Alias Cain, amongst others. Wanted for murder in three continents. The subject of a worldwide manhunt by American intelligence more than once. Rumoured to have been the product of a covert CIA black ops division..." Her voice trailed off as she stared straight into his hazel eyes. "But we both know there's more to _that _than rumour, don't we, Mr. Bourne?"

"That's something I'd like to ask you. How _do _you know?" Bourne asked.

"Let's just say I have _inside _sources", Janet replied. "Besides, given how desperate Washington has been to silence you in the past...it really is no surprise".

"Soraya...Director Moore...told me you have information for me. She claims its 'vital' to my safety and the safety of...others", Jason said. "Care to elaborate, Ms. Renauld?"

"Certainly", she said. "It's why we're here". She handed him a dossier, one amongst the many papers on the table in front of her. He opened it and was greeted by several photographs...of corpses. Crime scenes.

Assassinations.

"First it was a Russian attaché at the embassy in Paris", she said. "Then came a Iranian diplomat in New Delhi. The Hungarian ambassador to Turkey...a deep cover MI6 agent in Pakistan...the list goes on", she said. "Over twelve kills in the last seven months. No seeming connection. The victims from both the East and the West. Each kill carried out under tight security conditions...professionally and efficiently. No trace of the assassin...not _one _trace, electronic or human".

"There aren't many who can do all that", Jason commented, leafing through pages of the dossier detailing the circumstances of each assassination. "Assuming it _is _the same man".

"It is. That's been confirmed. I'll come to that later", she replied. "As you said, there aren't many who can do this. But there are at least a few. Jason Bourne for one", she said.

"But we both know that isn't true", she said, before he could say anything. "Which leads us to look elsewhere...but we didn't need to look. The killer sent us a message five days ago".

"The killer? You know who it is?" Bourne asked, anxious to know how any of this related to him.

"Yes", she replied. "And that's where you come in", she said. "You see, the killer claims to be an old...sparring partner...of yours".

She paused and added, almost as though for calculated dramatic effect, "The killer claims to be Carlos the Jackal".


	3. Chapter 2: Return of an Assassin

**The Bourne Vengeance**

**Chapter 2: Return of an Assassin**

There was a stunned silence for a few seconds.

Then Bourne said one word-"Bullshit".

Janet Renauld opened her mouth to speak but Jason cut her off. "Illich Ramirez Sanchez is dead. Do you hear me? DEAD". He paused, and added in a softer voice, "I _watched _him die..."

"In a Soviet era espionage training compound outside Moscow", Janet completed the sentence. "Novgorod, I believe it was called".

"If you know so much, then you also know what you're saying is bullshit", said Bourne.

"Not necessarily", the Interpol officer replied. "Remember, I said the killer claimed to be 'Carlos'...not Illich Ramirez Sanchez...but simply 'Carlos'".

"A pretender?" Bourne asked rhetorically.

"Well, rumour has it that even Jason Bourne's had one", she said dryly.

"The message. How did you get it? And what _was _it?" Jason asked insistently.

"We found a thumb drive...on the body of one of our undercover agents. She was found dead in an abandoned warehouse in Brussels...shot in the throat", said Janet. She sighed, "She was a close friend".

"I'm sorry", said Jason, meaning it. "That was Carlos' signature", he said softly.

"I know", replied Janet. She handed him a print-out. "The thumb drive contained several documents..._highly classified _documents, pertaining to the security of the twelve victims; the assassin was clearly showing his hand, letting us know the extent to which he'd penetrated the security of his victims before the kills. And it also contained a message..._this _message".

Bourne looked at the message on the print-out.

MY PREDECCESOR FELL BEFORE THE KILLER CHAMELEON, BUT I WILL NOT. WHAT HAS TRANSPIRED THUS FAR IS BUT A DEMONSTRATION. THE REAL HUNT BEGINS NOW. I WILL FIND JASON BOURNE. I WILL MAKE HIM WATCH THOSE NEAREST AND DEAREST TO HIM DIE. AND THEN, I WILL EXECUTE THE ACCURSED PRETENDER TO THE THRONE THAT IS RIGHTFULLY MINE AND DELIVER HIS BODY, AND THOSE OF HIS CHILDREN, TO THE AMERICANS WHO CREATED HIM. I WARN THE CHAMELEON NOT OUT OF COMPASSION, BUT MERELY BECAUSE THE THRILL OF THE HUNT IS IN THE CHASE. AND I EXPECT THE MURDERER OF MY FATHER TO GIVE ME NO LESS THAN A THRILLING CHASE BEFORE HIS INEVITABLE DEMISE.

CARLOS

"Wait...the assassin is Carlos' _son_?" Jason exclaimed.

"He c_laims _to be. He probably means it in terms of being a successor. To my knowledge, there is no record of Illich Ramirez Sanchez having any legitimate or illegitimate issue", said Janet.

"This message seems to imply a personal motive", said Bourne.

"He could probably mean it in terms of ridding the name of Carlos of the ignominy of defeat at your hands", Janet explained. "This people may be cold-blooded...but they can get pretty hot-headed where they're egos are concerned".

Jason knew that, all too well. In fact, it had been the very bedrock of _his _strategy against Carlos, all those years ago...

"You're right", he said. "The only facts we have at hand are that there's someone out there using Carlos' name, Carlos' methods...who fancies himself as the Jackal's successor and wants to kill me and my family".

"Yes. It was why I needed to get in touch with you. But you're not an easy man to find. However, knowing about your connections to the _old _Treadstone, I got in touch with the Director of the _new _Treadstone...it took a great deal of persuading for her to set up this meeting", said Janet.

It was all Bourne could do to stop himself from asking _how _she knew about those connections. Instead she asked, "So apart from warning me, which I _am _grateful to you for, what _do _you want from me?"

"We were hoping to use your services...as a consultant of sorts, Mr. Bourne", said the Interpol officer. "No man...no agent alive, knew Carlos, the _original _Carlos the way you did. You were the one who engineered his death in Moscow. If there's anyone who has a chance of finding this new 'Carlos', of _taking _him alive or dead, its you". She paused as she sipped her cup and added, "You can deny you've got a personal stake in this".

"You do understand of course", Jason said, sipping his own coffee, "that I prefer to work alone..._away _from the authorities".

"We do. And we have our own...shall we say, _conditions_", said Janet. "It would hardly bode well for Interpol's image, or _mine _for that matter, if a rogue CIA operative, widely considered to be an international assassin, were allowed to be involved in this investigation", she said.

"Therefore, we have _no _official understanding. This meeting never took place. All I and Charles are doing here is a favour for US Intelligence...extracting a deep cover American agent from Prague", said Janet. "We'll be dropping you off in Brussels, which is where we're heading. From there you're free to go wherever you like...though the weather in Brussels _is _good at this time of the year."

She handed him a thumb drive. "An informant gave you this", she said, completing the fictitious narrative. Bourne almost got a sense that she was enjoying this alleged 'deception'. "Naturally, Jason Bourne has an interest in hunting the successor of his old...rival".

"How do I get in touch with...my informant?" Jason asked, playing along.

Janet gave him a cell-phone number he memorized.

"Now, if we're done here, I think it's we ordered dinner".

ooo

The flight was awkward and passed largely in silence. Bourne didn't find that at all disconcerting. He and Janet Renauld may have both wanted the same thing, but they worked on different sides of the law, with different methods and different tactical objectives. Moreover, _she _was probably risking her reputation if she was even _seen _in the vicinity of an alleged 'assassin' like him, and _he _in turn had always had a certain disregard for official authorities, which dated back to even before the day the CIA first declared him rogue.

At the airport in Brussels, the first call was made to Johnson, the Canadian agent in charge of the security detail protecting his children. He apprised Johnson of the possibility of danger and the need to take additional precautions, without mentioning Carlos. The fewer people who knew about the assassin's return, the better.

Carlos. Bourne could picture the tanned Latin face, the spectre, the killer he'd stalked across Europe. The hunt for Carlos had cost him _far _too much. It had cost him his mind and his memory, to begin with. It had cost him the lives of too many innocents he felt responsible for. And above all, it had cost him years of peace...replaced instead with anxiety and the perpetual fear of imminent attack. The night Carlos had finally perished; a cloud had been lifted from over the Webb family. But now the spectre of death was hovering over their heads yet again. Carlos had been reborn. His legacy had cheated death, much like Bourne himself had so often over the years.

Bourne swore to himself that he _would _find this new Carlos. He would find him, and he would kill him...before the assassin even had a chance to _look _upon his children...

Once more, the Bourne identity was given purpose...


	4. Chapter 3: Brussels Investigation

**The Bourne Vengeance**

**Chapter 3: Brussels Investigation**

**A/N: **After three chapters of talk, there's finally going to be some action in this one...

_Brussels, Belgium_

The officer's name had been Madeline Dubois. She had been deep cover in Brussels, attempting to penetrate an underground network used by the 'new' Carlos in the city. After over two weeks, she had made considerable progress, far beyond her and her superior's initial expectations. Then, nearly ten days ago, she sent word to Paris that she'd set up a meet with an individual who claimed to have had direct access to Carlos, and who could possibly identify him. The source feared for his safety, and insisted that the meet be off the record, and that no other officers or agencies be involved. Dubois had agreed...most high value sources had similar conditions.

So Madeline Dubois had gone for the meet and then disappeared of the face of the death. When she did not report in after 24 hours, her immediate superior, Janet Renauld, had panicked and ordered a search. Four days after her disappearance, her body was discovered in a warehouse; forensics suggested that she had been rendered unconscious first, before her throat had been torn apart by a bullet.

All this and more was on the thumb drive Renauld had given Bourne, and so he resolved to begin his investigation in Brussels, by questioning everyone who whom the slain Interpol officer had had contact with in the weeks prior to her murder.

Armed with false credentials that identified him as an investigative journalist and foreign correspondent of _The Guardian _newspaper, Bourne first questioned the three sources whose names, addresses and phone numbers were contained in the thumb drive. They had proved easy enough to deal with; they were all underworld informants who, in recent years, skated along the thin line that separated the two sides of the law, seeking a degree of legitimacy from the authorities and society at large by selling information to undercover intelligence operatives. But mainly, like most capable businessmen, seeking money.

A few free drinks and a hundred Euro note or two loosened their tongues easily enough. They told _Guardian _reporter 'Clyde Thomas' all about their meetings with 'Martha Giraud' (Dubois' undercover alias), the questions she'd asked, and the people they'd led her too. It was a long, tedious, but largely peaceful process that lasted virtually the entire evening and most of the night. Finally, at around two a.m. in the morning, after hours of burrowing deeper and deeper into the Brussels underworld, one lead following another, Bourne found himself in a high-end bar in the middle of the city, facing a nervous looking Frenchman.

"That is the man", he said to Bourne in French, gesturing towards a burly looking Bulgarian in clad in a leather motorcycle jacket. The man was bald and bearded with a large black tattoo at the back of his head. There was a ferocious aspect to him that Bourne instinctively sensed, as he had sensed in hundreds of similar men. This was an animal, a beast who stalked the streets at night for prey much as he would a jungle. Bourne had spent a significant portion of his life, both remembered and unremembered, confronting such beasts and breaking them down, both physically and psychologically. He had done it before and there was nothing stopping him from doing it again.

"_Merci_", said Jason, handing the Frenchman two hundred Euros. "I have neither seen you nor spoken to you, as I promised". The man stole away from the bar, like a rat fleeing from the scene of an impending battle between raging bulls. Bourne made his way from the private booth to the bar counter and sat on the stool next to the Bulgarian.

This was the man who the Frenchman had indicated to Madeline Dubois ten days ago. Every instinct in Bourne made him believe that this was the end of the trail. _This _man was the alleged direct link to Carlos the Interpol agent had set up the clandestine meet with. Because the Bulgarian, unlike the half-dozen others Bourne had questioned that night, was no underworld snitch or informant. He was an enforcer; a professional killer. The kind Carlos would have employed back in the old days for reasonably simple executions.

"I was wondering if we could have a little chat", Bourne said to the man in Russian. "In private".

The Bulgarian turned and looked at him. "So", he replied in the same language with a heavy accent, "you're that 'reporter' who's been sniffing around".

Evidently, the snitches of the Brussels underworld were not as confidential about their clandestine dealings as they expected their 'buyers' to be, which was not at all surprising, Bourne reflected. "I'm no reporter", he said. "I come from Moscow. I bring the compliments of Victor Ouromov", he added, mentioning the name of an infamous Russian Mafia boss.

"Ouromov", the Bulgarian snorted. "I serve a far greater master these days".

This confirmed Bourne's suspicions that the Bulgarian was connected to Carlos. "Some of us were very interested in knowing what you had to do with that woman from Interpol. There was word that you had turned informant".

"What concern is that of yours?" the Bulgarian asked calmly as he guzzled down his beer and gestured to the bartender for another.

"Nothing in particular. We were just a little concerned you may have inadvertently compromised some of _our _operations in the area", Bourne said, in a seemingly nonchalant tone.

"What I did with that woman is none of your stinking business", the Bulgarian said.

"So you admit you _did _have something to do with her?" Bourne pressed on.

"I do not answer to you. Pester me once more and _you _will answer to no one ever again!" the Bulgarian threatened in a matter-of-fact manner.

"Surely, it is not becoming for a soldier of the _Jackal _to behave in so rash a manner", Bourne said casually.

At the mention of Carlos' title, the Bulgarian turned towards Bourne and stared straight into his eyes. Bourne stared unequivocally back.

The Bulgarian lowered his voice to barely above the whisper, but the increased intensity was unmistakable. "Do not for a moment believe I do not know who you are, Jason Bourne", he said. "I have been instructed to wait here for you...to listen to you make your inane and pitiful threats, for one reason alone".

"Go on. I'm all ears", Bourne said cavalierly, gesturing to the bartender for another drink. He had to convey the impression that the Bulgarian's intimidation tactics did not faze him in the least. Carlos, whoever he was _this _time would know that too. He did not send this man to intimidate...he sent this minion to convey a message. And that told Bourne something else...that all his investigations in Brussels had been part of Carlos' plan. He had been manoeuvred right from the start, even _before _he set foot in the city. It had all been the first stage of Carlos' gambit...beginning with the execution of a deep cover Interpol officer who had virtually no connection to him...

"Your children will not be safe, no matter which corner of the world you hide them. Carlos _will _find them, and he _will _execute them. In this world there are no rules...and Carlos is the undisputed ruler" the Bulgarian said solemnly.

"Sounds like a schoolyard taunt to me", said Bourne dismissively. "You can tell your boss that the _real _Carlos was no juvenile delinquent". And he meant every word he said. Carlos' message, as conveyed by the Bulgarian killer-messenger _was _absurd. Childish even. Almost as though the decision to send it was solely based on an emotional response of some kind. The original Carlos, while on occasion blinded by his ego, was seldom this juvenile.

"That is all I have to say", the Bulgarian said. "Turn around and leave while you still can".

"Gladly", said Bourne. "I think it's time for me to rejoin the world of grown-ups".

ooo

Bourne had realized that the Bulgarian had followed him out of the bar about ten minutes ago. He could not honestly say he was surprised. To an extent he was pleased. The man had, on Carlos' orders, delivered a message. Now, under the threat of death, he could possibly deliver far more valuable information.

Guided by his eidetic memory, Jason manoeuvred the killer into an alleyway which he knew led to a dead-end. The alleyway was completely deserted...perfect for what Bourne had in mind. Eternally conscious of the beast stalking him, he suddenly ground to a complete halt mere feet away from the dead-end.

Jason knew what was going through the killer's mind. Right now, the Bulgarian would be consumed by a feeling of savage triumph; having cornered his unwitting quarry! Any moment now, he would be confident enough to strike...

It was a movement no one could have sensed save one who was anticipating it. Bourne had been looking for that sudden nearly imperceptible shift in the air behind him, and so jumped aside seconds before the Swiss knife would have torn through his back muscles. In the next instant, he gripped the arm that held the knife and violently twisted it. Most men's arms would have been broken by such a move; in this case, the Bulgarian, as well built as he was, merely grunted in pain as he was forced to drop the knife.

Pressing his advantage before his opponent had time to recover; Bourne delivered a powerful kick to the man's kidneys causing him to drop down to his knees. He delivered a barrage of blows, both to disorient and to weaken. The Bulgarian would not go down easy though. Though taken by surprise, he was keen to recover lost ground; delivering a powerful blow to Bourne's shoulder with his uninjured arm, causing him to stagger back. The Bulgarian, with every ounce of strength left, charged at Jason like a wild bull, tackling him to the ground, attempting to strangle Bourne with his hands. The pain in his sprained right hand got the better of him however as his grip wavered. In that moment, Bourne rolled over onto the Bulgarian, reversing their positions, and then grabbed the killer's neck in a hammerlock, thrusting him in front of him. The Bulgarian was choking, losing blood...in a matter of minutes he would be unconscious...or worse...

"Tell me", Bourne said, "why was Carlos so sure I would come here? Why was he so confident I would track you down?" 

"_Die _pig!" the Bulgarian spat.

"You're the one on the verge of death now, my friend...not me", Bourne said calmly. "Either you tell me what I want to know or Carlos gets your corpse mailed to him...wherever he is".

The Bulgarian was rapidly losing consciousness. In a matter of minutes he would be off no use to Bourne, or indeed to anyone else for a while.

"There is very little time left for you", Jason said harshly. "Time for some quick answers. _Why did Carlos think I would follow up on the woman's murder?_"

"He...knew...you would find out about...the woman", the Bulgarian gasped. "It was...part of the...plan".

That confirmed Bourne's suspicions entirely. "Where _is _Carlos? Who _is _he?"

"I...don't...know", the Bulgarian blurted. Bourne tightened his grip. "Not good enough", he hissed loudly into the Bulgarian's ear.

"I SWEAR", the man screamed pleadingly. "I got phone calls...a woman spoke...gave instructions...money in my account...THAT'S ALL I KNOW...PLEASE!"

Again, this was nothing Bourne didn't expect. The Bulgarian killer was relayed instructions by a 'blind' contact, several contacts removed from the master assassin who sat in the centre of the web of conspiracy. A typical Carlos tactic. Whoever this successor or pretender was, no matter his emotional issues, he had certainly mimicked every trick in the Jackal's rulebook accurately...

"Why does Carlos want my children?" Bourne asked finally. "WHY?"

"To avenge a wrong...too rectify an inequity...that's what I was told...PLEASE", the Bulgarian gasped for air desperately and started writhing. Bourne applied a little more pressure and within seconds, the Bulgarian was unconscious.

Leaving the killer spread-eagled in the middle of the street...yet another drunk pedestrian to the unlikely casual passer-by...Jason walked away from the scene, his mind rapidly processing all he had learned. Which wasn't much, but instinct told him it was a start...

His entire investigation in Brussels had been orchestrated by this new Carlos. The very death of Madeline Dubois had been a part of this plan-the very trigger for his involvement. And the reason was simple enough-Carlos wanted him to know that he held the strings...that he could manipulate anyone in the shadow world he'd claimed as his personal domain.

But yet, nothing was that simple. How had Carlos been so certain that he would look into the death of Madeline Dubois? Why would he be involved in investigating the murder of an Interpol officer? There had been the warning directed towards him of course, but how was Carlos so certain that an Interpol officer would even be able to get in touch with him...yet alone share such details with him...

Unless...

Janet Renauld of course! She was the link...the connection. Somehow, in Carlos' eyes, there was a connection between him and the Renauld woman. Somehow, Carlos had known Renauld would alert him of the message found on Dubois' body...would set him down the path to the Bulgarian killer.

But what was the connection between him and a woman he'd never even met before twenty four hours ago? And how did Carlos know about this connection, whatever it was?

Whatever it was...it was his only lead for now.

He had to get in touch with Janet Renauld...


	5. Chapter 4: The Renauld Connection

**The Bourne Vengeance**

**Chapter 4: The Renauld Connection**

**A/N: **Some revelations in this chapter...only the tip of the iceberg I assure you!

"This is Jason Bourne", he said simply into the phone, having called the secure line Janet Renauld had given him.

"Have you got anything I can use?" she asked.

"I'm not sure...but I've certainly found something we need to talk about. As soon as possible", Jason said.

"When and where?" she asked.

Bourne gave her the name of an obscure cafe on the outskirts of Brussels. "About three in the afternoon fine with you?"

Janet agreed.

ooo

"So...what is it?" Janet asked, staring at her cup of coffee.

Bourne had told her everything about the encounter with the Bulgarian. She in turn told him that the Bulgarian, based on the description he had given her, was a known contract killer in the Brussels underworld, though Interpol had never before suspected his involvement with Carlos.

"The whole thing was a trap. Well not a trap really...more of a maze I was led through deliberately. Your deep cover agent, Dubois, was likely killed just to get me involved in the matter". He sighed and added, "I can't tell you how sorry I am for that".

"But _why_? What possible connection could be there between you and Madeline?" Janet asked.

It was time to get to the crux of the matter, Jason thought. "The connection isn't between Madeline and me. The connection is between me and _you_. Carlos had Dubois killed because he knew that you were her immediate superior. And somehow he knew that you would get me involved. Which of course begs the question-_how _did he know that? What _is _the connection between us? That's what I'd like you to tell me...now".

Janet was silent. She stared down at her feet. Bourne sensed she was grappling with herself...trying to decide whether or not to talk about something.

"Look...Treadstone isn't as big a secret as it once was...but still, most Interpol officers would have nowhere _near _the amount of info..._authentic _info on me...as much as you do. And fewer still would even _think _of involving me in _any _investigation. So I need to know...how and why?" Bourne pressed again.

Janet looked up at him. It seemed she had made a decision. "I know about you because my father told me."

"Your father?" Bourne asked, surprised.

"He...knew you, once. A long time ago", Janet said.

"I don't remember", Bourne said softly.

"I know. He told me about your amnesia too", she replied.

"Who was he? How did I know him?" Bourne asked.

"His name was Paul Renauld", said Janet. The name did not ring a bell for Jason. It did not bring up any images, any thoughts...nothing. It was just a completely unfamiliar name he had never heard of before in his life. And yet, if what Janet Renauld said was true, and he had no reason to doubt her, he _had _known this man...in the unremembered life.

"He was an Interpol officer too", she added. "This was back in the days when you were known to be the most dangerous assassin in Europe, second only to Carlos. My father was assigned to your case...his job was to track you down...arrest you if possible". She added.

"What happened?" Bourne asked.

"He told me...you saved his life", said Janet. "And that was when he learned the truth about you. That you were no assassin. That you were a deep cover American operative posing as an assassin to draw out Carlos. That you were a man...one could trust".

"Did he say anything else about me?" Bourne asked.

"Only that you both worked together for a while after that. Against Carlos. He didn't tell me anything beyond that...except that he hadn't seen you for years and that you most likely wouldn't even remember him now because of your memory problem", said Janet.

_Against Carlos_, Bourne thought. _There _was a connection. Janet Renauld was the daughter of a man he'd worked with in order to bring the original Carlos now. Whatever had happened, Carlos' successor knew about it, and had so drawn him out using Janet. And this told him something else. The key to finding out more about this new Carlos, his motivations, perhaps even his origins, was his association with Paul Renauld.

"Where is your father now? Can I speak with him?" Jason asked.

"I'm sorry. My father passed away almost two years ago", Janet said. "Heart attack".

"I'm sorry", said Bourne.

For a few minutes, they sat in silence. Jason was trying to make a decision of his own. Could he trust Janet Renauld or not? Instinct told him he could...instinct told him she was telling the truth about him and her father, even though he had no memory of it. And yet, she was an Interpol officer...and _he _had once been an internationally wanted man...

He made his decision. It was the only way to go ahead with this investigation, really...

"Janet", he began. "Carlos chose to get to me through you for a reason...and maybe, just maybe, your father was that reason. I don't remember your father and the work I did with him...but whatever it was may be the key to this new Carlos and the reason he is targeting me. I need to know everything that happened all those years ago. Did your father leave behind anything, _anything _at all? Notes, pictures, logs...data of any sort that might give me a clue as to what it was he worked on with me?"

"Well", Janet began hesitatingly, "He _did _maintain personal records of his own. No one knew about them...not even his closest colleagues at Interpol. He only told me about them in the week before he died. Maybe that's where you need to look".

"Okay. How soon can we get to Paris?" Bourne asked.

"We can be there by tomorrow morning. I've still got some things I need to tie off here", said Janet.

"Good", said Bourne. "I'll leave tonight and meet you there tomorrow".

"That won't be necessary. We can go together", said Janet.

Bourne frowned. "Won't that compromise you? Being seen with me?"

"Not really. I officially have you listed as a high-value source on Carlos; a paid consultant. My assistant Charles is the only one who knows who you are, and he won't breathe a word. I can get you a room in any hotel you'd like...I think it's best you get some rest. You sure look like you could use some".

"Yeah, sure", replied Jason.

ooo

Bourne was twisting and turning in his sleep, on the hotel bed, even as his mind had been swept away in torrents of shattered memory, to another place...another _time_...

_He was in a field, somewhere in the outskirts of...Paris. Yes, it was Paris. It was a few minutes to dawn. He lay in the shrubbery, watching the scene before him through his binoculars. He had uncovered this drop of Carlos' three days ago, and for three days, he'd been staking out this location...hoping to learn something. Something of value. And his patience had paid off._

_There were two men, talking in hushed whispers. An envelope, presumably containing money and instructions had changed hands. He had placed bugs on the trees nearby, and he could hear some of the conversation between the two men through the receiver in his ear. Both men were intermediaries; one man a contact of Carlos, the other a representative of Carlos' client. They were discussing their business...murder. _

_Assassination._

_The same old story. This time the victim was to be a right-leaning French MP. The fee: Five hundred thousand francs. The strike point: the Swiss Alps, where the target was scheduled to go for a skiing vacation with his family._

_He would let both the intermediaries depart, blissfully unaware that their plans had been compromised. And he would relay his intel to Conklin, who in turn would make the necessary phone calls and ensure that the French MP was protected. An innocent life would be saved. And sometime, in the not too distant future, Carlos' man would get a wire around his neck and be forced to divulge intel that would bring him one step closer to his ultimate objective..._

_Find Carlos! Trap Carlos!_

_But something had happened! Something had changed! Someone else...someone unexpected...had intruded upon his scenario...and he realized who...That damned fool! The Interpol guy! He thought he had shaken him off days ago...but he was here! _

_And he was about to be killed..._

_There was no help for it. The strategy had been blown apart...just like an innocent man was going to get his _head _blown apart...unless he did something about it..._

Bourne groaned in his sleep, as the distant sound of gunshots echoed in the inner reaches of his mind...

_The scene had changed...to a hospital. The man...the Interpol man...was wounded. But he would pull through. He'd had to kill Carlos' man...and a potential source of valuable intel...but it was worth saving an innocent life. But the assassin would _know _that his plans for the assassination of the MP had been compromised! Would he still take the assignment, albeit with changed plans? Or would he abandon it...If the former, he needed to work fast..._

_The man was recovering...opening his eyes...staring at him...in a matter of minutes he would regain consciousness entirely..._

_He would have to make a decision soon...about how much of the truth to tell..._

_About how much could he trust this man, this Paul Renauld..._


	6. Chapter 5: Interlude

**The Bourne Vengeance**

**Chapter 5: Interlude**

**A/N: **This chapter includes a lot of exposition on Bourne's backstory and the events of _The Bourne Identity_; for those who haven't read the book or need to refresh their memories.

_Canadian Rockies_

"Yes, Mr. Webb", said Canadian Intelligence operative Johnson into his encrypted cell phone. "We're completely secure."

He spoke for a little longer on the phone before he disconnected, and started walking back to the safehouse. The Webb kids, Jamie and Allison, were on the floor, watching TV. The two members of the security detail the kids were most familiar with were sitting at the back of the living room, playing poker, while the kid's own caretaker was seated on sofa near them. Johnny St. Jacques was upstairs in his bedroom...he'd insisted on accompanying the kids to the safehouse, though he would likely be returning to the ranch the following day.

Everything seemed fine to Johnson's trained field instincts. His cursory check complete, he stepped out of the house again walking down the short mountain path, noticing the armed military guards stationed on both sides of the electric fence. This safehouse was a veritable fortress...situated virtually in the middle of nowhere...the anonymity itself a form of security...

Or maybe not.

Johnson pondered for a moment or two before he began to dial another number...

ooo

Bourne had spoken to Johnson, the agent in charge of the security detail protecting the kids, before he and Janet boarded the charter plane to Paris. Even _he _didn't know the exact location of the children, and for once, the lack of knowledge was comforting to him. The children were _completely _isolated...even from him. He hoped and prayed that would optimize their security.

He and Janet were alone in the cabin; her assistant Charles Drexel would be flying down to Paris a little later. Jason could not but help notice a certain awkwardness between them that had emerged in the aftermath of the revelations she had made about him and her father. The revelations that had, hopefully, brought him a step closer to solving the riddle of the new Carlos...

"I remember him now", he said softly, breaking the silence between them. "Your father I mean."

Janet looked at him curiously. "What _do _you remember?" she asked.

"Only bits and pieces", he admitted. "Your father picked up my trail in Paris. I thought I'd shaken him off but he was too good for that. I'd uncovered a drop of Carlos' just outside Paris...he followed me while I was observing the meet. I think he thought Carlos' man and the client's representative were _my _men so he moved in to arrest them...and he ended up getting shot. Badly. I moved in then...took out both men. Managed to get your father to a hospital in time".

He paused then, hesitant about how to proceed. The memories were there...but they were disconnected...disjointed. Still, they were there. There was a hint of clarity where there was once just darkness.

"After...your father recovered, I made a decision. As long as your father thought I was the second most dangerous assassin in Europe he would continue to follow me...and continue to endanger himself. I just...couldn't let that happen. So I told him the truth. About Treadstone...about the mission to trap Carlos", said Bourne. "In fact, as I vaguely recall, I took things a step further. He was made a part of Treadstone". He paused again, searching his shattered memory for more to say. "Conklin...my boss at Treadstone...wasn't too happy about it at first, but he came around to it eventually. He saw it was a good idea. We had an inside man at Interpol...someone who could provide us with the latest Interpol intel on Carlos and his activities...someone through whom we could feed Interpol misinformation about _me_".

"So maybe that's what my father meant when he said he worked with you against Carlos" Janet said.

"No", said Bourne, though he didn't know why he said so with such certainty. "There _was _something...something else that happened. I just _can't _remember".

"Hopefully you'll find something amongst my father's notes in Paris", said Janet. "Maybe they will jog your memory".

"Yeah, hopefully", said Bourne pensively. "But you know, that's how my life has been for a long time now. I'm a man waiting for a street, a name..._something_...to point me in the right direction".

Janet said slowly, hesitantly, "Tell me about Carlos. I mean, _you _and Carlos. What happened, really?"

"I thought your father told you", Bourne said. He wanted silence for now...he wanted the time to think...to remember.

"He told me a bit...but not everything. Besides, I think it would be better if I heard it from you", she said and added, "Look, I wasn't around back when you and my father hunted Carlos but I _am _involved now so I think it's best if I know everything I can".

Bourne couldn't really argue with her on that. "Okay", he agreed and then began.

"I still don't remember a lot of it. Most of what I _can _tell you is what I've been told by others myself". He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, picturing the past...or what he remembered of it.

"The Carlos operation...was the last job I did for Treadstone. It was a strategy devised by Conklin and a man called David Abbott", said Bourne.

"The Silent Monk of Covert Operations?" Janet asked.

"Yeah, that's the one. The theoretical basis of the op was that Carlos' ego could be used against him...that he could be manipulated, lured into a trap, if there was adequate provocation...and then some more. That's where I came into the picture. I assumed the mantle of Cain, a mythical assassin created by rampant misinformation Treadstone spread through intelligence networks and embassies across Europe and Asia. As Cain, I was at the scene of high-profile assassinations...I developed underworld contacts, even entire dummy networks running in competition to those of Carlos...eventually I began taking credit for Carlos' kills. We created an illusion...the illusion that I was outmanoeuvring Carlos at every turn...that I would destroy him and then replace him", said Bourne. "The strategy worked...for a while. Carlos was becoming increasingly desperate...reckless even. He was showing his hand too often. We all felt it was only a matter of time before he could be lured into a trap...before he would be caught or killed".

"But something went wrong...obviously", said Janet.

"Yes it did", said Jason softly. "In the end, Carlos turned the tables on me. I'd gotten word that Carlos was in Marseilles...he'd accepted a lucrative contract to assassinate an American ambassador scheduled to make a visit there. Two days before the assassination I made my way into Marseilles...an informant told me Carlos would be meeting his clients on a fishing boat five miles off the coast. I'd hoped to trap him...but his men trapped me. I don't really remember what happened that night...but whatever it was, I ended up bullet-ridden and comatose in the Mediterranean."

A look of realisation dawned upon Janet's features. "Was that when- " she began, but Bourne cut her off.

"Yes. When I regained consciousness, weeks later, I couldn't remember a _thing _about my past. About who I was, about the mission...about the people who were still after me", said Jason. "I learned the truth not long after that of course. I confronted Carlos himself; nearly got myself killed...but he got away".

"For years, my family and I, lived under the shadow of Carlos. But when he died in Moscow, I truly believed that that shadow had been lifted...forever", he concluded.

They remained in silence for a few minutes. The steward brought them an early breakfast. While eating, Janet said, "Whoever this new Carlos is, I think it's pretty obvious he's got a personal stake in all this...in _you_".

"I've been thinking about that too", said Bourne. "There's something almost...juvenile...about his fixation with me. He sounds almost like a pre-school bully taunting me. And the repeated references to my children. It somehow seems more than just a threat. It's...I don't know...every instinct tells me he's trying to make a _point _somehow the way he keeps mentioning them".

"Your kids _are _secure right?" Janet asked.

"Yes. I just checked in with the agent in charge of their security detail. They'll be fine...but they won't be _completely _safe until we...until _I_...take Carlos out of the game", said Bourne.

"You know", said Janet, "That message on Madeline...Carlos' first threat...it really surprised me. And not in the obvious ways..."

"How so?" Jason asked curiously.

"Just...the mention of your children. Somehow the idea that _you_, I mean, someone _like _you...had children...was just, kind of hard to digest", said Janet hesitantly, as though she was afraid she was crossing some line with this conversation.

"I agree", Bourne said after another long silence. He looked at her and half gave an ironic smile, "It doesn't quiet seem _right_ doesn't it...doesn't really fit the profile of an international assassin." He sighed, "But back when I started doing this...back before I even remember clearly...there _were _no...kids".

There was another silence. Bourne knew that Janet seemed uncertain as to whether she should proceed or not. He knew she was bursting with questions...she wanted to know everything about him. She wanted to understand everything about the enigma he was...the man behind the dark legend she'd heard so much about! In that respect at least, if not any other, she was much like Marie had been in those distant early days in Zurich and Paris...But unlike Marie, who had incessantly probed and questioned an amnesiac in an attempt to uncover the secrets of his past, Janet was reserved, almost timid, in her questioning...much like a shy college student hesitating to approach an imposing professor. He almost laughed at this analogy from David Webb's academic life.

Finally, the student found the courage to question the professor again, "Why _do _you do this? I mean, why did you start? What could have possible made you..._want _to do this?"

Jason had half-expected this question...and was no better equipped to answer it than he ever had been. "It's difficult to explain...I've spent a _lot _of time over the years trying to figure this one out. It's not a question of my not _remembering_...it's just that I don't think I ever really knew the reason...or ever wanted to rationalize it."

"The truth is", he continued, "That after my wife...my _first _wife...and our kids...died...it was just all I had left".

"Oh", Janet exclaimed in shock. "I'm sorry", she whispered. "I'm so sorry".

"It's okay. It was a _long _time ago", Jason whispered back. "After my family was blown to hell", he continued, "I didn't really have a reason to go on. I felt I'd failed in my ultimate purpose-failed to protect them. I was just a living corpse...my whole life reduced to one big _redundancy_". He sighed, "And then Alex Conklin gave me a new purpose. A new _identity_. He trained me...turned me into the perfect weapon. The perfect killing machine. For years I worked for him, taking missions no other agent could hope to survive...covertly eliminating threats most people didn't even know _existed_." He paused. "And during all that time, I never _once _questioned why I was doing what I was doing. I never once questioned the implications of my actions. I did it all...because I had felt I had nothing else to do".

"Was it the amnesia that changed things?" Janet asked.

"Yes. When I woke up one morning as a clean slate and then slowly started to re-discover the man I'd been, the things I'd done...it gave me a whole new perspective to my life", said Jason. "I realized that in my pain I had let myself be manipulated into becoming someone else' instrument...into becoming an attack dog essentially."

"But ever since Marie died, I've wondered a lot if Jason Bourne is who I was meant to be. Because once again, the only sense of purpose I feel in my life...is all...this", said Jason. "Whatever you choose to call this insanity".

"You _do _have a purpose now, though", Janet reminded him.

"Yes, I know. Carlos will _never _get to my kids", he said.

"Do you believe...that he really _could_ be Carlos' son, whoever he is?" Janet asked, tactfully changing the subject.

"I dunno, really", admitted Jason. "If he was, it would explain his fixation with my children perhaps. I killed his father, so he kills my children, and then me, in revenge. It all fits in too well. _Too _well".

"On the other hand", he continued, "He could just be someone cashing in on the mantle. On the Jackal's reputation. Like I did once, he could have studied Carlos' methods, his kills; trained himself to be Carlos' equal...and then entered the business, not as his competitor, but as his _successor_!"

"And he thinks taking _you _out, the man who killed the _original _Carlos, will enable him to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that _he _is the best in the game", Janet completed, comprehending everything.

"Exactly", said Bourne grimly. "But if everything goes according to plan, he won't be around long enough to do that".

ooo

The tall, well-built, blond-haired man with a French beard, dressed in an expensive beige business suit, looked every inch the hotshot lawyer as he emerged from the headquarters of the Brussels police...but he was also something more...

In a back alley, he took out the cheap temporary cellphone he'd purchased earlier in the day, before he'd even visited his client who was in police custody, and dialled a number he had long ago committed to memory.

"Angelus Domini", he said softly but clearly into the cell.

The static that echoed at the other end subsided and gave way to an almost ghostly voice...a loud electronic whisper...

"Angelus Domini, child of God. Are your days comfortable?" the voice asked.

The lawyer took a deep breath. He'd also found this part of making contact the most ridiculous. It really made no difference. The first two words served as enough of a code...the rest was just a meaningless ritual his employer insisted upon.

"The days they draw to an end...but they are made comfortable", he said in a matter-of-fact tone. Once upon a time, decades ago, the words would have been true, as they _would _have been spoken by a decrepit old man clinging desperately to the last vestiges of life. But times had changed. A _new _assassin bore the mantle of Carlos, and he sought younger, healthier, more _professional _workers...

"What was Zukanov's report?" the voice asked, referring to the Bulgarian killer who had been neutralized by Jason Bourne two nights ago, and now lay bruised and beaten, in the custody of the Brussels police.

"He claims Bourne found him, as you anticipated he would. He delivered the message, as per your instructions", said the lawyer. "He also admits he shadowed Bourne and engaged him, hoping to eliminate him."

"Foolishly so", said the disembodied voice, which sounded neither like that of man's, nor that of a woman's. "I had not instructed him to engage the target himself and he should have known he had no chance against as skilled an opponent as Jason Bourne. Nevertheless, even _this _foolishness of his _was _anticipated. In fact, it fits in well with my plans".

"There's something else. Our man at the airport claims that Janet Renault chartered a plane to Paris early this morning. She was accompanied by a man who cleared Immigration as Miguel Rodriguez, Argentinean national."

"It is Bourne of course. He is coming to Paris, somewhat _sooner _than I anticipated. It seems he has made the...connection...I had hoped he would. Yes...it is all according to plan. Alert our man at de Gaulle to dispose of the _package_ on Bourne's arrival. He'll know what to do", said Carlos.

"Yes, Carlos", replied the lawyer, as he ended the call, and disposed of the cellphone by dropping it down the next drain he came across on his walk to his car.


	7. Chapter 6: Paris Again

**The Bourne Vengeance**

**Chapter 6: Paris...Again**

_Paris, France_

Bourne was carrying three passports. The American diplomatic passport Soraya had given him just before the Prague op. Using that now would be equivalent to taking a microphone and announcing his arrival to Carlos' men in the Arrivals lounge. Then he had a Canadian identity, a 'gift' from his children's protectors in Canadian Intelligence, and lastly an Argentinean one in the name of 'Miguel Rodriquez' he'd obtained on his own. Of the three, this last one was the most secure, and so he used that as he passed Immigration at Charles de Gaulle airport, but he knew that the identity he used really didn't make a difference one way or another...Carlos had men _everywhere_. He would be tracked anywhere, anyhow.

And in Paris in particular. For Carlos may well have anticipated his trip to Paris. Paris, of all places...

Jason Bourne had a long history with the City of Lights, both remembered and unremembered. Paris had been the base of operations of the original Carlos, and therefore, having played a cat-and-mouse game with the Jackal across Europe, Bourne had made the logical decision to strike out at Carlos on his very doorstep by bringing the fight here. It was to Paris that he had instinctively returned, shortly after his memory loss, to piece together the secrets of his elusive past. It was in Paris that he and Marie had run for the lives, pursued relentlessly by Carlos' men. It was in Paris that he had learned the truth about himself...about his mission.

It was also in Paris that a partnership with Interpol officer Paul Renauld had been formed...and that was why Jason had returned here after years. To discover the _objective _of that partnership...

He and Janet were just about to step out of the airport, when an innocuous looking man, briskly walking, bumped into him and then walked off. Bourne felt something being slipped into his hand. By the time he'd turned around, the surprise of the sudden encounter having subsided, the man had vanished...

"What is it?" Janet asked anxiously.

"A phone", Bourne said, holding up the cell.

"A phone?" Janet exclaimed, disbelief in her voice.

"Carlos knows I'm here...obviously", said Bourne, as he checked the phone. It was completely devoid of data...blank. No contacts, no images or video clips, no text messages or notes...nothing. "And he wants to be able to contact me".

"Or keeps track of you", Janet said.

"We'll see about that", said Jason. "You said we'd be picked up?"

"Yes...there's a car waiting for us", said Janet.

"You take the car. I'll take a cab. It will be safer that way. Give me the address of your apartment...I'll meet you there in a couple of hours, once I've made sure I'm completely secure", said Bourne.

"Sure", said Janet.

ooo

Exactly ninety minutes later, Bourne was seated on a sofa in the living room of Janet's apartment, formerly that of her father's, Paul Renauld. From the moment he'd stepped in, he had a feeling he'd been here before, a long time ago. It was an encouraging sign...a sign that the answers he sought may well be here.

"That's my father", Janet said, gesturing to some photographs on a mantelpiece. Bourne recognised the man in the photos. He was older than the man Bourne vaguely remembered, but the same man nonetheless. The brown hair was now flecked with grey, but the same piercing blue eyes, which his daughter had inherited, and the same small moustache.

Bourne told Janet on how he'd checked into a hotel room, and dismantled the cellphone, and then reassembled it. There was clearly no tracking device on it. This was confirmed by the fact that he didn't spot anyone tailing him.

"Well, now that we're here, I think its best we get to work immediately", said Bourne. "Where are your father's files?"

"Follow me", Janet said, as he led him to a large bedroom. She opened a closet, brushed aside some of the clothes hanging there; men's clothes which obviously belonged to her late father. She fumbled at the back of the closet, and a spring mechanism activated, causing a false back wall to open outwards revealing a hidden compartment almost entirely taken up by an old-fashioned safe with a tumbler lock. Janet turned the tumbler, obviously knowing the combination, and within seconds, the safe opened, revealing several large notebooks.

"They're _all _yours", Janet said.

ooo

The late Paul Renauld had been meticulous and Bourne had to be thankful for that. He had indexed his notebooks subject-wise, making the process of sifting through them for information _much _easier. His notes were a mixture of reproduced official records and his own suspicions, recollections and reflections. Some entries were supplemented with photographs, newspaper clippings and even photocopies of official dossiers. Bourne doubted if Renauld's superiors would have approved of this practise. He even wondered whether somewhere, in his forgotten past, he too had pondered keeping his own personal records, and how much easier would the task of piecing together his past have been had he done so!

Renauld had devoted an entire notebook to Carlos the Jackal, and Bourne was swift to set aside that volume. He was about to open it when his eye caught another familiar name on the label of one of the other notebooks. He picked it up and realised why...he was staring at his own name!

The volume was simple labelled 'Cain'. Jason, intrigued, opened it. He spent a good half-hour going through the notebook as he sipped at some of the wine Janet had offered him. She had had to report to her office and had left after showing him her father's secret stash. The book was filed with detailed reports regarding the suspected movements, activities and associates of the mysterious assassin known as 'Cain'. Bourne was not surprised to find a lot of what Renauld had written down familiar...after all he had _lived _through the deception himself! One or two entries even triggered a spark in his mind...and vague, fragmented memories slowly appeared before his mind's eye. But thus far, nothing which explained his connection to Renauld and how that may have concerned Carlos.

Frustrated, he skipped several pages towards the end of the notebook. He soon found himself reading Renauld's account of his encounter with Cain...

Renauld's sources had informed him of Cain's entry into France through Paris. For ten days he received regular reports of Cain's movements through France. Marseilles, Lyon, Nice...Paris.

Bourne could not but help admire Renauld's meticulous surveillance of him. Shadowing an operative trained by Treadstone was no joke! But Jason recalled having sensed the surveillance...having evaded it. However, somewhere along the line, preoccupied as he was with gathering intel on the impending assassination attempt on the French MP...he had slipped up. And Renauld had found him.

Bourne read Renauld's account of the encounter with Carlos' men, and the aftermath. The penultimate entry briefly described Renauld's conversation with Bourne. He had simply noted the salient details-that the legendary 'Cain' was in fact an American agent named Jason Bourne; a field operative for a CIA black ops program codenamed Treadstone. That he was on a mission to capture or kill Carlos. That he was a man to be trusted.

That was it.

The very last entry was of some interest to Bourne, but again, it had no relevance to the task at hand. In it, Renauld described a telephone conversation with the panicked Treadstone director Alexander Conklin, who had informed him that Jason Bourne, having resurfaced after months of inactivity, had turned rogue...that he was suspected of collaborating with Carlos. Conklin had requested Renauld to put out a Euro-wide alert for Bourne, and to himself take precautions just in case Bourne decided to eliminate any of his old contacts to cover his tracks. Renauld had written a personal reflection that he did not believe Bourne had defected to Carlos because the agent was, in his opinion, as far as the mission to eliminate Carlos was concerned, 'determined to the point of obsession'.

At the very end of the entry was a small note, dated several months later, that Bourne was currently being debriefed in Washington; that he had _not _in fact turned rogue but was instead suffering from memory loss. Renauld concluded by writing that he now considered the Bourne file irrevocably closed.

Bourne closed the notebook and sighed. There was absolutely nothing, _nothing_ in the file to indicate just _what _it was he and Renauld had worked on together. There was a gap between the last two entries of his 'file', a gap that was as much a void as much of his memory.

Oh God, what _had _they done?

One point struck Bourne though...it was Renauld's assertion that he believed that Bourne was 'determined to the point of obsession' to eliminate Carlos. How had he gained _that _impression? He obviously had gained in during the time he and Bourne had worked together against Carlos...

Bourne picked up the notebook labelled 'Carlos'. With any kind of luck, he would find some answers here...

Renauld's records on Carlos were _far _more extensive than those on the mythical Cain. There were excerpts from official dossiers, crime scene photographs and forensic reports, transcripts from interrogations of sources, informants and captured terrorists associated with Carlos in any capacity. There was also a great deal of rumour and conjecture, and Renauld's personal reflections on those. A small number of the entries concerned cases which Renauld had personally been involved in and as such, revealed the Interpol man's personal insight to a much greater extent. Bourne read with interest Renauld's analysis of the Carlos-Cain rivalry and its impact on the European underworld. But again, he did not find much of value to his immediate investigation.

He skipped towards the end of the book, to an entry dated shortly after the time he and Renauld had met, and worked his way forward from there. And it was there that he made his first real breakthrough...

Renauld described an operation mounted by Interpol, in collaboration with the intelligence branch US State Department, to track down the perpetrators of a bomb attack at a top-secret NATO strategic conference in Lisbon, which resulted in the death of several high-ranking State Department analysts. As part of the team which successfully captured one of the terrorists involved, Renauld was among the first to discover that the man was part of a mercenary unit hired by Carlos. Anxious to bargain for a lighter sentence, and having been promised protection, the prisoner was willing to reveal valuable intel regarding Carlos' organisation, which he had gleaned from the many jobs he and his comrades had undertaken for the assassin. Renauld then went on to mention how he personally interrogated the captured terrorist on several occasions, accompanied by an American DOD observer, Andrew B. Franklin, and discovered information _personally_ concerning Carlos that he considered far too _sensitive _to be recorded. He concluded by stating that he believed that if acted upon, this intel would be 'irrevocably compromise' Carlos...

This was it, Bourne thought. Here was the answer...or at least, the beginning of one. He did not know if it concerned _him_ in any way, but it certainly concerned Carlos. 'Sensitive' intel 'personally' concerning Carlos, which would 'irrevocably compromise' the assassin..._precisely _the kind of lead he needed. And somehow, he instinctively felt he was on the right path here. For there was something else he had noticed, something else which had caught his attention...a name...

_Andrew B. Franklin_

Yes, _that _name! It was familiar. _Far _too familiar. Bourne was certain he'd heard the name before. In fact, he felt he might even have _known _the man. Who was he? An DOD 'observer' or someone else entirely? Had he been a Treadstone agent, one of Conklin's innumerable sources within the more 'legitimate' intelligence community?

Jason did not know, although he hoped he would remember. For now, he was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was on the right track.

Now all he needed to do was find out _what _that sensitive intel had been. And whether that intel, which according to Renauld, could have damaged the original Carlos, could be used against his diabolical successor as well?


	8. Chapter 7: Webs of Conspiracy

**The Bourne Vengeance**

**Chapter 7: Webs of Conspiracy**

**A/N: **I know the last few chapters have been miserably low on action...so this is where I break the deadlock with some good old fashioned, adrenaline-fuelled violence! Also, this chapter marks the mid-point of my story...and it also marks a significant turning point. How? Read on to find out...

The darkened office was very much like any executive suite in a European capital. And the woman behind the desk looked every inch the professional businesswoman; one who, like so many others of her sex, had successfully established her dominion in a world traditionally reigned over by men. She had never been one to obey orders...she issued them instead. There had only ever been _one _man she'd obeyed, and then only reluctantly at first...

She picked up the phone on her desk and dialled a number. She spoke in a soft yet intense tone. "Maple...the time has come. _Spin the web_".

ooo

Agent Johnson, of Canadian Intelligence, was crouched, leaning against the wall at the back of the safehouse. It was dark, but he had the benefit of night-vision lenses. So did the armed guards patrolling the compound. Nevertheless, _he _had the element of surprise.

He'd ordered most of the unit off the premises; to investigate a potential threat his sources in Ottawa had alerted him to earlier in the day. It was a red herring; but it would take some time for them to realise that. By then, he'd be done here. As soon as he'd dealt with the remaining guards...

He attached the silencer to his Sig Sauer and counted to ten in his head. The two guards in his immediate sight-lines seemed to be conversing with each other. They were distracted; lulled into a false sense of security simply by the fact that no obvious danger had presented itself yet.

Johnson sprang up from his crouched position, aimed his weapon at the throat of the first guard, and in the next split-second, squeezed off a shot. In the time it took for the other guard to register the fact that his colleagues' throat had erupted with blood, his own throat was torn apart with a second bullet.

Johnson did not even wait for the corpses to drop to the floor. He had already rushed to the other side of the compound. _Two down...three to go_, he thought.

The guard standing on the other side of the electronic fence, near the front of the house, was easy. Johnson's bullet tore his throat apart. The corpse fell heavily against the fence and sparks flew as the skin on the corpse was charred by the electric current.

The two members of the security detail inside the house were the most problematic. One of them had noticed the corpse of the third guard by the fence from one of the upper windows, and was rushing down the stairs to the ground floor, weapon in hand.

"Man down!" he yelled, then noticed Johnson's weapon, realisation dawning upon him.

"What the-", he began and then instinctively raised his own weapon and fired a shot when he noticed Johnson about to pull his trigger. Johnson ducked as the bullet grazed his left shoulder and wildly fired another shot, which hit the guard in the left arm. As the guard yelled in pain, Johnson rushed forward and tackled the man to the ground. He heard a sound above him and noticed the fifth and final member of the detail also coming down the stairs, drawn no doubt by the sound of his colleague's gunshot.

Johnson shot the man between the eyes and turned his attention back to the guard on the floor, who bleeding profusely, still managed to grab his legs and drag him down to the floor. Johnson's gun clattered to the floor as he lost his grip in the fall. He grabbed the guard's injured arm and twisted it. The guard's scream of agony was deafening, but the man nevertheless reached for a knife he noticed in Johnson's belt with his other hand and thrust it upwards towards Johnson's chin. Johnson dodged the knife, and with a powerful jerk, dislocated the guard's left shoulder. He then got up on his knees behind the guard, grabbed the knife which the guard had dropped in his pain, and in a swift motion, slit the man's throat.

Johnson sighed as he stood up and moved away from the bloody pool which was beginning to surround the corpse. _That _had been messier than he'd hoped...but it didn't make the slightest difference to his plans. He'd kept his schedule.

The Webb kids and their caretaker were fast asleep...Johnson had drugged their dinner. They wouldn't awaken till late next morning by which time they would be out of the country. The chopper, with his men, would be landing in a quarter of an hour to spirit him and the kids away from the kill-zone that was this safehouse. The remaining members of the detail would return, later the following day at the earliest, to find themselves amidst five corpses and one unconscious woman...

Lucius Tremont, alias 'Johnson' was skilled, brutal, and above all, efficient...like _all _of Carlos' most loyal soldiers...

ooo

Janet Renauld sat in her office, which she hadn't seen in days, pouring over dozens of reports concerning Carlos, both the original and his successor. She had received a call from Bourne over an hour ago, regarding something he had found in her father's notes, and she had been digging through all the old Interpol files from that period, looking for any mention of the terrorist her father had interrogated.

As she skimmed through the dossiers her mind drifted, as it often had over the past three days, to Jason Bourne. This enigmatic man who had become a killer to hunt killers. A man with so much violence in him, yet paradoxically enough, so much compassion. _A paradox...even to himself_, her father had once told her, so long ago. _He became a wolf, to protect the sheep._

Janet wondered how much Bourne had confided in her father. She wondered if he had told him about the tragedy that had irrevocably shattered his life and set him down this path. She wondered if there were other things he'd shared with her father, which he hadn't seen fit to share with _her _yet...

However much she didn't know about him though, Janet was certain of one thing-she _trusted _Jason Bourne. Not only because he has saved her father's life, had worked with him, but because of the brief time she'd spent with him since that night in Prague. She was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would discover the secrets of the 'new' Carlos, and finish him, much like he did the original years ago. And she also knew she would do whatever she could to help him complete that objective.

Which brought her back to the files...her father had been helpful enough to provide the name of the captured terrorist in his own personal records, and thus she was able to match it against the Interpol files. However, the files, while they contained detailed transcripts of the interrogation of the terrorist by other Interpol officers, as well as those of various law enforcement and intelligence agencies, there was no transcript of Paul Renauld's interrogation of the terrorist...this, despite the fact that her father was clearly listed as one of the officers responsible for the terrorists' arrest.

She sighed. Whatever had transpired between her father and Carlos' captured mercenary all those years ago had clearly been kept out of the official record. Even out of Paul Renauld's personal records. _Why? _How sensitive _was _the intel? And if it could 'irrevocably compromise' Carlos' position, then why had her father not seen fit to share it with his colleagues?

Janet could think of only one answer. _Jason Bourne_. Perhaps her father had shared the intel gathered from the terrorist with Jason, who in turn had convinced him to keep it to themselves. Maybe the intel had served as the basis for a Treadstone mission. A black op her father would certainly _not _have wanted any official connection with...

But that still didn't bring her any closer to finding out _what _that intel was...unless...

It was a slim chance, but it was worth a shot. After all, she could hardly believe her father would have left behind _nothing_...and if he had left something behind, it could only be with one man...

Peter Conneau had been one of her father's oldest friends, and his closest colleagues. They had both been to university together, both risen through the ranks of Interpol together. Conneau had been the best man at her parents' wedding. And both men had been privy to many of each other's personal and professional secrets...

Janet hadn't seen the man since shortly after her father's death, but she would now. She sincerely hoped he was in Paris; since his retirement he spent a considerable amount of time travelling abroad.

She picked up her cellphone and dialled his number.

ooo

Peter Conneau had been delighted to hear from 'little Janet' again after all this time! He had been a little surprised when she told him she wanted to consult him on a professional matter, but readily agreed. So, a little over an hour later, she found herself seated in the living room of his house in the Montparnasse, owned jointly by him and his banker son.

"So, what is it you wanted to ask me about? You look most anxious...reminds me of my days in the department", he said with a laugh.

Janet managed a smile. "Actually its concerning a certain case of my father's. I think you were involved as well. The bombing of a NATO conference in Lisbon. The perpetrators were a mercenary unit hired by Carlos".

"Ah yes, I remember that one. My-how time flies! Must have been a good ten-fifteen years ago! Maybe more", replied Conneau.

"You'll captured one of the terrorists. An Eduardo Romero, I believe" she said.

"Yes, I remember. Paul was particularly interested in that man. Romero wanted to trade-leniency in return for intel. Paul told me he was convinced the man had valuable intel", replied Conneau.

"Did my father share that intel with you?" she asked.

"No", Conneau replied. Then, in a more curious tone, he added. "I found it most peculiar. He refused to have any transcripts of his interrogations with Romero in the official record. Apparently, he and Romero had some sort of understanding...he would _only _deal with Paul, and Paul alone, with regards to this particular information. Which was strange, considering he was more than prepared to reveal other intelligence to others. Enthusiastic almost, one might".

"Did you have any idea why?" Janet asked.

"Personally I suspect...it had something to do with the American", Conneau said.

"What American?" Janet asked, feeling her suspicions were being confirmed. Jason _had _been involved with Romero.

"I don't recall his name. An 'Andrew B-' something or the other", replied Conneau. "I never met the man personally, but I was told he was the only other person in the interrogation room, with Romero and Paul." He paused and added, "I cautioned Paul about it...said this had all the trappings of one of those classic 'black bag' jobs the Americans enjoy so much. But he simply told me that the American could be trusted".

"Anything else?" Janet asked insistently, somehow feeling there was something Conneau wasn't telling her.

Conneau hesitated. He seemed on the verge of making a decision about something.

"Please", she insisted again.

He sighed.

"Well, Paul told me to keep it a secret...but I suppose he wouldn't have minded _you _having it. Besides, it was all a long time ago...couldn't possible do any harm now" he said slowly.

"What?" she asked, a little impatient now.

"A tape. Paul entrusted it to me, not very long after his last interrogation with Romero. He made me swear never to hear it. He said that I would be a lot safer if I didn't...the information in it was 'inflammable'. Yes, I believe that's the word he used", said Conneau.

"You mean...it's a recording of the interrogation?" asked Janet.

"I don't know. He never told me exactly what it was, but that was what I suspected at the time. He never brought it up again. I sometimes think he forgot about it completely. So did I...until you brought it up".

"Can I have it now? Please?" Janet asked.

Conneau nodded. He got up and left the room. After an interval of about fifteen minutes, he returned, with a small tape recorder which he handed to her. She thanked him.

"Will I ever be able to know what this is about?" Conneau asked.

Janet hesitated before replying, "Perhaps...when it's all over".


	9. Chapter 8: Filling in the Pieces

**The Bourne Vengeance**

**Chapter 8: Filling in the Pieces**

**A/N: **This is the chapter where all will be revealed...and the build-up to the final confrontation begins...

Jason lay on the bed of his hotel room. Beside him was on the tape recorder Janet had given him a little less than half an hour ago.

"You've heard it?" he'd asked her.

"No, I think it's best if _you _heard if first. If my guess is right, what is on it...is something I'm perhaps better off not knowing", she'd said softly.

Bourne had to agree with her on that. She'd told him about Peter Conneau's suspicions that Paul Renauld had become involved with an American 'black bag' job. The father had already gotten in too deep...there was no need for his daughter to necessarily go the same way.

He stared at the tape recorder and somehow, it filled him with a feeling of dread. True, he was curious, but he was oddly enough, apprehensive as well. He both wanted and _didn't _want to know what was in the tape. For the tape represented a piece of his forgotten past; a past which had already yielded more nightmares than most men could digest in several lifetimes. Did he really need another?

But he had needs for his present. He needed to protect his family, and to do that he _would _have to discover the secrets of his past, however horrifying they were _this _time...

So he switched on the recorder and lay back in bed, eyes closed...listening...

"_Subject: Interrogation of Eduardo Romero. Interrogators; Superintendant Paul Renauld, Paris Interpol, and Andrew B. Franklin, consultant, United States Department of Defence"_, the recorded voice began. Even without the introduction, Bourne would have recognised Paul Renauld's voice.

"_Senor Romero, you have on previous occasions stated to me and Monsieur Franklin, confidentially, that you have compromising information concerning one Illich Ramirez Sanchez, also known as Carlos"_, Renauld began.

"_Yes"_, Romero replied. Bourne somehow seemed to vaguely remember that voice as well...had _he _met Romero too?

"_However, thus far, you have yet to reveal anything substantive to that effect"_, said Renauld.

"_I've said this before, Superintendant...I must have...guarantees"_ said Romero. _"The information I have...can _destroy _the Jackal. Cripple him completely. If it is known that I am the supplier of such information to the authorities...I can only expect a bullet in the throat"._

"_Well, then there's all the more reason you _should _tell us what you know"_, said Renauld. _"The sooner Carlos is...neutralized...the safer the world is for you when you're free to rejoin it"._

"_There is no guarantee that you, or anyone else, will succeed in acting upon this information"_ argued Romero

"_Leave that to us"_, snapped Renauld. _"Why bother telling me you have information, if you refuse to reveal it?"_

"_I never said I wouldn't", _said Romero. _"Provided you meet my terms, as discussed earlier"._

"_One million francs and 24 hour security cover, both during the period of your incarceration and after, up till the death of Illich Ramirez Sanchez has been incontrovertibly confirmed"_, said Renauld. _"One million is too steep, as we've discussed"._

Romero gave a short laugh wryly stated,_ "Interpol spends _several _million buying informers across Europe who only supply the same old misinformation"._

"_Well, if you want us to meet you're price, you will have to earn it",_ said Renauld.

"_Yes or no?"_ said Romero.

"_Monsieur Franklin here represents the American government, who as you know, has no shortage of funds. Rest assured you _will _get your money"_ said Renauld.

"_And the protection? Wealth is relative to the time one has to enjoy it, after all"_ said Romero.

"_If you're information warrants it"_, said Renauld. _"Now let me be frank with you, Senor Romero"_, the Interpol man said firmly. _"You are really in no position to negotiate here. We have been willing to humour you so far...we even guarantee you money and protection if your information proves to be accurate and useful. If you persist in playing your little games of hide and seek however, Monsieur Franklin here has _other _methods to...persuade...you to part with your information...for free"._

"_Very well then"_ said Romero. _"Until eight months ago, I was in command of a small contingent serving as security detail for a high value asset"._

"_For Carlos, I assume?"_ said Renauld.

"_Yes"_, replied Romero. _"We were based in a villa, on the outskirts of Madrid. There were five of us...all contracted by Carlos himself. There was a sixth person, living in the villa in the guise of valet. He was one of Carlos' soldiers...put in place to observe and if necessary, relay instructions to my contingent"._

"_Did you have any direct contact with Carlos, at any point?"_ asked Renauld.

"_I spoke to him a few times on the phone"_ replied Romero.

Finally, the mysterious American, 'Andrew B. Franklin' spoke, and the moment Jason heard his voice, yet another mystery was instantly cleared up. He knew now why Romero's voice sounded familiar...

It was his _own _voice!

Andrew B. Franklin, the DOD 'consultant', was none other than Jason Bourne...

Jason almost laughed out loud at the irony. No wonder he found Franklin's name familiar. It was after all one of his _own _aliases! Conklin must have fixed him up with DOD credentials, so that he would be able to work with Renauld openly, even gain access to the Interpol holding cells, without anyone suspecting his true identity and purpose.

So stunned had he been by this discovery that he realized he hadn't paid attention to the tape. He rewound it a little and then re-played it at the point when Franklin..._he_...had first spoken...

"_Who was this asset? Was he being held captive, or was he being protected?"_ Bourne heard his own voice ask.

"_It was a _she_"_, Romero said. _"And she was being protected"._

"_Well...who _was _she?"_ asked Renauld.

"_A young woman. A _girl _actually. Probably not much older than sixteen or seventeen"_ said Romero.

"_Nationality?"_ asked Jason.

"_Her passport was Spanish. It identified her as a Maria Gonzalez", _said Romero.

"_I take it that _wasn't _who she really was though" _said Bourne.

"_Oh no. She could pass off as Spanish, but I knew she wasn't. She was Venezuelan"_ said Romero.

_Venezuelan_. Bourne's blood frozen. Every instinct in him told him what this was likely leading up to...He felt an eerie sense of déjà vu overpower him, because he _knew _he had felt the same way when he'd heard all this the _first _time round...

"_Venezuelan"_ Renauld said. _"How can you be so certain?"_

"_We conversed a few times while I was there. She let things slip sometimes. She referred to Venezuela as 'home'...even though she had spent the last several years in Europe. All this and more led me to suspect what I now _know _to be the truth" _said Romero.

"_Which is?"_ Bourne asked, though Jason knew that even back then, he had already guessed the answer.

"_The she was Carlos' _daughter_"_ Romero said plainly.

There. He had _said _it! The words which answered _everything_! Well, almost everything...

_And I expect the murderer of my father to give me no less than a thrilling chase before his inevitable demise_, he had written. Except that 'he' was in fact a _she_. The 'new' Carlos wasn't the original's son, she was his _daughter_!

"_Carlos' daughter?_" Bourne heard his own voice exclaim on the tape. Evidently, his younger self had found this revelation as astounding as he did now.

"_Yes_", said Romero. "_No one would believe it of course...a man like him having a family. But he does have a daughter, Monsieur. And she is _still _in Madrid, to my knowledge. But she may not be for long. Which is why you will need to act quickly..."_

_Act quickly...act quickly..._the word's echoed through Jason's consciousness, conveying a sense of urgency which he now recalled they had conveyed all those years ago when he'd first heard them from Romero's lips. They had conveyed a necessity to get moving; to devise a strategy, implement it, and to swiftly _strike_...

Was that what he had done all those years ago? Was that the 'black bag' job Conneau had been referring to?

All his suspicions, all the vague feelings and apprehensions he'd had right from the beginning were beginning to take concrete shape...It _all _fit in..._far_ too perfectly!

Carlos' daughter wanted revenge. Revenge against Jason Bourne for killing her father. But also, revenge for whatever had happened all those years ago. And revenge against Janet Renauld, for the part her father had played in that affair...

_Vengeance_.

_That _was what this was all about. That was all it had been since the beginning. The childish threats, the laughable cloak and dagger games...all the trappings ultimately, of a little girl lost...

Lost in a shadow world that had a penchant for devouring souls, as Jason Bourne knew all too well...


	10. Chapter 9: Portrait of an Assassin

**The Bourne Vengeance**

**Chapter 9: Portrait of an Assassin**

**A/N: **The identity of Carlos' daughter is revealed...

She sat in her office, behind her desk, but like her father, she had eyes everywhere. From the dingiest streets to the highest corridors of power...there was no place she hadn't left her mark...

She followed their movements all across the globe, as she would the pieces on a chessboard...her enemies, her pawns, her soldiers...the world was _her _chessboard, her _inheritance_, and she played them all effortlessly...For after all, were not human beings, if nothing else, _predictable_?

The Renauld girl had made contact with Peter Conneau, as anticipated. And he had given her the tape. She knew there had been a tape; the traitor Romero had once admitted as much, before his death. And who better to be entrusted with the tape than the late Paul Renauld's closest friend and trusted partner.

By now, Jason Bourne would know the truth. Or at least, enough of it to know who she was and what she wanted. And before long she would place a phone call to Venezuela...to make it _easier _for Bourne to learn _everything. _For she wanted him to know everything about who she really was...before he paid for what he had done to her and to her parents...

She would lull him into a sense of fall security, let him be emboldened by his supposed 'progress'...and then, when the moment was right, she would drop a certain bombshell and send the one-time killer Chameleon plummeting into the depths of despair...

ooo

_He was in Paul Renauld's apartment, seated on the sofa. Renauld was in an armchair by the window. Carafes of wine lay on the coffee table between them. It was late...though in their line of work, night was just as good as day. Better, in fact._

"_How do we know she's still there?" Renauld asked._

"_Conklin has sources in Madrid...I had a man check up on the villa and this 'Maria Gonzalez. As of three hours ago, she's still at the villa. She's been living there, under that name, for over two years. Not much intel about her otherwise. According to Immigration records, she's made several trips within Europe-France and Switzerland mostly. All within the last three years. Before that...nothing. She just popped up out of nowhere", he said._

"_But do you really think..." Renauld began, but Jason cut him off. "It all fits in Paul! Don't you see", he said._

"_We've only got Romero's word for it", argued Renauld. _

"_Backed up by hard evidence...which is highly suggestive", Jason replied._

"_Yes...but..." Renauld began again, and again Bourne cut him off. "Consider the facts Paul", he said firmly. "The girl exists, and Carlos wants her protected. Whoever she is, whether she's really his daughter or not, she's someone valuable to him...she's leverage. We get her...we get _him_. She's his weak spot...his one vulnerability. We have to exploit it as soon as possible, before we lose our chance"._

_The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, quietly drinking their wine. Then finally, Renauld spoke, softly, "So what's your plan, Jason?"_

"_I'll move in, neutralise the hostiles, grab the package and remove her to a secure location. He'll come for her, and we'll take him. Alive. The Agency, the DOD, Justice Department and probably a few others will mine him for whatever they want...then we'll turn him over to you", Jason said plainly, almost mechanically. _

"_This...'package' you're referring to", Renauld said uneasily. "You do realise we're talking about...a girl, don't you? A child of sixteen or seventeen."_

"_Yes, I do", he replied simply._

_Renauld sighed. "Jesus", he muttered to himself, then added, "I'm really not so sure about this, Jason. Kidnapping a child...". For a few moments, the Interpol man was silent. Then, he spoke again, softly, wistfully, "You know, I've got a little girl of my own too...away at school". He put his hands in his head._

_Bourne knew what the man was going through. A part of him almost envied Renauld his finer feelings. But finer feelings were the one thing _he _could ill afford in this treacherous life fate had thrust upon him..._

"_I had a daughter too", he said softly, startling himself with his own admission. How long had it been since he had spoken of her, acknowledged her existence? He honestly couldn't remember._

_Renauld looked up. Jason's words had suddenly caught his attention._

"_She was...taken...from me", he continued, staring at the ground...fighting within his mind to hold back the flood of memories. "Taken...by killers like Carlos. I didn't choose this life...this job...because I liked it. I'm doing this to make the world a safer place...to give other children the chance which my kids never had! And I'm willing to do _anything _to make that happen".  
><em> 

"_Anything?" Renauld asked softly._

"_Conklin and the Monk came up with their master plan to lure Carlos out into the open. To trap him...kill him. But I've been at it for a while and so far it's gotten me nowhere close to the objective", he continued, ignoring Renauld's last comment. "To be very frank with you, Paul...I'm _tired _of it! I'm tired of being chased all over Europe by Carlos' men, taking out the odd courier or hired gun while _he _stays in the shadows. I'm tired of being a walking bulls-eye, trying to prove I'm 'better' assassin to grab his attention, because if there's one thing I've become _really _better at than him, it's at being a target"._

_There was silence again. A long silence this time, as Renauld sat back in his chair, contemplating, grappling with his conscience. Finally, in a tone of resignation, he spoke, "What do you want me to do?"_

ooo

When Jason awoke, he half-expected to find himself in Paul Renauld's apartment. It took him a few minutes to take in his surroundings and shake off the disorientation brought on by the vivid dream he'd had.

No, not a dream. A _memory_. Another shard of his shattered past, triggered as usual by stimuli. In this case, the tape.

As he took a quick shower, he tried to put it all together. Tried to rationalize, to comprehend the surge of new memories; the new images, voices and information that had suddenly reawakened in his conscious mind. Years ago, his friend and psychiatrist Mo Panov had taught him how to cope with the flashbacks. Over time, he had grown inured to sudden return of these disjointed memories of another life...but that did not make what he learned from them any easier to deal with.

But with the memories had come the answers he'd sought for the past few days. There were still a lot of gaps to be filled in, but he'd been able to piece together the essential facts...

'Maria Gonzalez' was Carlos' daughter. She had been living in a villa on the outskirts of Madrid, under armed guard. And, with Paul Renauld's help, he had mounted an operation to infiltrate the villa and abduct the girl. His objective had been to lure Carlos into a trap.

But something had obviously gone wrong. And that was the gap...the missing piece of the puzzle...He couldn't remember _what _had happened at the villa. He could picture it clearly in his mind's eye, he knew he had _been _there, but beyond that, everything was blank...

What shocked him the most though about these recollections was what had shocked Paul Renauld all those years ago; his very decision to abduct the girl. A _child_. He had _kidnapped _a child to use her as bait; as a pawn in his lethal chess game against Carlos!

Bourne had no illusions about himself; about what he had been. Treadstone had forged him into the perfect killing machine. His training had made it possible for him to kill a man in cold blood, without feeling regret or remorse. He was directly or indirectly responsible for more deaths than he cared to remember, and a part of him considered it fortunate that he _didn't _remember many of them.

But using a _child_...this was something else entirely. No wonder Renauld had refused to maintain records of this blackest of black ops, even in his private notebooks. No wonder he had described Bourne as being 'determined to the point of obsession' in his mission to take down Carlos. What else would one call a man who was prepared to gamble with the life of a child to secure his objective?

What had happened had happened, Bourne thought, as he towelled himself and dressed quickly. He couldn't change the past; he could only deal with the consequences that arose from it. Now was the time for planning, for strategising. Carlos's daughter had him precisely where she wanted him; she'd been manoeuvring him from the start. Whoever she was, he needed to turn the tables on her, to trap her as he had once trapped her father. But for that, he would need Janet Renauld's help. He had resolved to tell her the truth...there was really no point in keeping it from her.

But before that, he needed to check on the kids. Ensure they were still secure. So he reached for his cellphone and dialled Johnson's number...

ooo

"Can't believe it", Janet said softly.

They were seated in her car, parked in an empty alleyway. Jason had insisted they talk outside, rather than in her apartment. He'd cited the possibility that her place might be watched by Carlos' daughter's men as the reason, which was true enough...however the real reason was that the apartment that once belonged to Paul Renauld reminded him all too well of the conversation he'd had there with the Interpol man, and the decision he had made there so long ago...

"It's the truth, I can assure you", replied Bourne grimly. "And it all makes sense. She wants revenge against me, not only because I killed her father, but also because I kidnapped her. It's why she's threatened _my _kids. Because she was _Carlos'_ kid, whom I abducted".

"You don't _know _that you did", Janet said.

"I'm pretty sure I did. I can't think of anything that could have stopped me", retorted Bourne.

"It seems amazing! All this while, we thought it was a son...but..." Janet began, and Jason continued, "She's had the training, the best she could get in this business. And she had the motivation. Honestly, I don't see what gender has to do with it".

"But who _is _she?" Janet asked. "I mean, who's her mother? What's her real name?"

"I don't know", said Bourne. "I wonder if Romero knew more than he was letting on. Hell, for all I know, he could have _told_ me, and I just don't remember!"

"Well, it's a pity we can't ask him. He's dead", said Janet. "That's about the first thing I learned about him when I checked him in the files".

"Wait, how did Romero die?" Jason asked suddenly. A thought had suddenly sprung to his mind.

"He was killed. Shot in the throat, with a high-powered rifle, a little over a week after his release from prison", said Janet.

"Shot in the throat-_Carlos_", Bourne said, but Janet shook her head. "We would have thought so, had it not been for the fact that the Romero was killed around a year after Carlos' death".

"Then it had to be her!" Bourne exclaimed. "_She _took out Romero...as revenge for betraying her to me and your father. It must have been her first kill, for all we know".

"It's...possible", Janet said. "But it's been a more than a few years since Romero was killed. She only caught our attention seven months ago. What was she doing for all this time?"

"Carrying on the family business...in a less conspicuous way", said Jason. "There are killings everywhere...and most of the time the assassins are unknown. She could have been behind _dozens _of assassinations, and no one would be the wiser...because no one knew she even existed. She deliberately attracted attention these last several months as part of her plan...to get even with me. And your father, through you".

"God! Sorting through this mess...it'll take _years_", said Janet.

"Not necessarily", replied Bourne. "If we can take her alive, I'm willing to bet quite a few 'unsolved cases' won't be unsolved for much longer".

"What about your kids? Are they fine?" Janet asked, changing the subject.

"I don't know. I keep trying Johnson's phone, but it's switched off. I called my brother-in-law in Ontario; he's saying he hasn't got any word either", said Bourne. "Of course, it's likely Johnson has taken the kids completely deep cover, and he's maintaining absolute silence. But I'd like to be sure. I'm thinking of asking Soraya to check up for me".

"You do that. In the meantime, I'd like to check up a bit on Carlos' daughter. I'll get in touch with some contacts in Venezuela. Have them go through official records. She was most likely born there...if we can get a birth certificate or something...", Janet's voice trailed off.

"Good idea...though it's more than likely either she or her father found a way to get rid of the records", said Bourne. "Then again, she might not be using her own identity anymore, which means she might have no reason to conceal it. And I'd like to know _who _she really is, in any case".

ooo

Pierre Larrouse sat in the somewhat battered looking black sedan, parked a few blocks away from the Paris Interpol office. He had been on surveillance duty for over six hours now...ever since he had received confirmation from Carlos' contact in Immigration at Charles de Gaulle airport, that Charles Drexel had arrived in Paris. He had then been instructed to lie in wait for the Interpol officer. Drexel, he had been briefed, was a creature of habit. His apartment was only a short distance from the office and therefore, being a bit of a fitness freak, usually walked back home rather than taking a cab.

Larrouse had always considered it a point of pride that he had been handpicked a little over two years ago by Lucius Tremont himself, to serve as Carlos' chief enforcer in Paris. Tremont was Carlos' most capable, most loyal soldier; in many ways, his second-in-command, though he was largely based in Canada, in deep cover within Canadian Intelligence, as was rumoured. It was _also _rumoured that Tremont had briefly worked for the _original _Carlos prior to the latter's death. This was one of the many reasons why Larrouse sometimes felt he respect Tremont even _more _than he did this 'new age' Jackal...

For Larrouse had no illusions about his employer. Whoever had taken Carlos' name was good, but nowhere _close _to a match for the _real _Carlos! He had grown up hearing stories about the original Jackal from his grandfather, who had been one of the assassin's numerous faithful 'old men of Paris'. _That _Carlos inspired fear in followers and enemies alike with the sheer aura of his presence, even if it was often only a voice on the phone. _That _Carlos inspired true loyalty; the kind that couldn't be bought with money alone...

But this _pretender _to the Jackal's throne...was just another killer. Well-trained, supremely skilled, but ultimately just another faceless merchant of death, who had appropriated the name of a dead legend. Who was he? A disciple of Carlos', groomed to take the assassin's place? A soldier, who had seized the opportunity upon his employer's death to appropriate his enterprise? Or could he truly be, as he claimed, _literally _the son of Carlos?

Larrouse didn't know and ultimately didn't care. As long as the new Carlos paid well, he would be content to offer his services. For that was the _only _kind of loyalty _this_ Jackal could command.

And then, almost as if on cue, Charles Drexel came into sight, immaculately dressed in a business suit, and carrying a small leather briefcase.

Larrouse leaned forward in his seat in anticipation of the impending encounter. He readied the hypodermic needle, checked to see if his false beard and sunglasses were in place, in the rear-view mirror, and got out of the car...

ooo

It was late in the evening when they met at a cafe. Jason had spent most of the day on the phone-to Soraya, to Johnny, and to several contact he had within the Canadian government-one or two of whom had been friends and colleagues of Marie's; to no avail. Jamie, Allison, and the man who had been tasked with protecting them, Johnson, had seemingly vanished off the face of the earth. His concern was mounting; the anxiety was almost over-powering now, in spite of the reassurances of the Canadians. But he summoned all his willpower to stay calm...to remain emotionally neutral.

It was at times like this that he receded deeper into the Bourne identity. It was not unlike a protective cocoon, shielding his mind from his own fears, from his own emotions. It had allowed him to function in the face of unimaginable trauma in the past...a small price to pay for the feeling of detachment from humanity that it also gave him. Or so he had once thought...

"My source in Caracas came through", said Janet, intruding upon his thoughts.

"You found her?" Bourne asked.

Janet nodded. "We've got her birth certificate. My source thinks it's authentic. He also thinks it was a bit _too_ easy to find".

"She wanted us to find out who she is, obviously", Bourne said. "Given her motives, it makes perfect sense".

"Anyway, I'll be getting a scanned copy of the birth certificate when I get back to the office, but I have her name", said Janet. "It's...Illyana Angelique Sanchez".

_Illyana Angelique Sanchez_

The name echoed through Bourne's consciousness. And as it did, two images sprang into his minds' eye...

One was an image of a woman, tall, bronzed, elegantly dressed, walking out of a church into the Paris afternoon...and the other, was of the same woman, lying naked on a bed, strangled to death...

"Angelique", he whispered to himself.

"I beg your pardon", Janet said.

Jason looked up and said in a low monotone, "We now know who the mother is".

"Who?" asked Janet, the curiosity evident in her voice.

Bourne sighed. "Angelique...was Carlos' cousin...and his lover since she was fourteen", he began. "She's the only other person on Earth he ever cared for".

"Never heard about her", said Janet. "And I've been through the files on Carlos about a million times".

"Yes...at the time of her death, the truth about who she was...was kept buried. Honestly, it was better that way, for everyone concerned", said Bourne.

"Care to explain?" asked Janet.

"Angelique was married to General Francois Villiers...a war hero turned politician. One of the most respected men in France at the time. Through her, Carlos had access to virtually all the secrets of French government...including the file on _himself_", said Jason. "I found her when I uncovered one of Carlos' networks in Paris. I confronted Villiers about it...once he was convinced of who she really was, he agreed to work with me. But he couldn't handle the strain of living with a woman who had betrayed everything he stood for; who was the lover of his son's murderer. So he eventually snapped, and strangled her to death".

"Wait. I was only a kid at the time, but I think I remember hearing about it on the news...something about a strangulation...the General's wife...", Janet frowned to herself. Then something suddenly occurred to her, "Weren't _you _a suspect in that case?"

"Yes, that was part of my strategy", said Bourne. "I took the blame for her death...to give Carlos a reason to come after me personally. To lure him to the Treadstone safehouse in New York, and take him. That part didn't work out in the end. I don't think Carlos ever realised the truth about Angelique's death. Till the end, he believed I killed her. And he obviously would have passed on that belief to his daughter. Even if he _knew _the truth, it would have suited his purposes to let her believe I was responsible".

"My God...so it's not just her father's death...she blames you for killing _both _per parents!" Janet exclaimed.

"Yeah", said Bourne. "And in a way...I _did_. I killed her parents...so she wants to kill my children".

"You need to stop blaming yourself. You did what you had to", said Janet. "This...Illyana...she's crazy. With parents like these...can you imagine what it must have been like for her as a kid?"

"Who knows how she would have turned out? For all we know, _I _set her down this path when I got her involved in my war against her father. I may have created her...just like the men who killed my family created _me_", said Bourne, a feeling of unease spreading throughout his being as he thought about his first wife and their kids. It reminded him all too well of the fate that could easily befall Jamie and Allison, or indeed, _anyone_ who got too close to him...

Oh God, where _were _the kids?


	11. Chapter 10: Matters of Blood

**The Bourne Vengeance**

**Chapter 10: Matters of Blood**

**A/N: **Illyana Angelique Sanchez' back-story is explored in this chapter...

_It was a semi-lit room. The smell of cigarette smoke that permeated through the small space was nauseating, but then again, so were his thoughts. He sat in the relative darkness, gun in hand, hypersensitive to every sound, every smell, every sight...the slightest deviation in his immediate environment. There were other men outside the room, on patrol...but they were no cause for alarm. They were _his _men...his back-up. And to his left, bathed in the glow of a fading light bulb overhead sat...the girl...securely strapped to the chair, tape over her mouth, a blindfold over her eyes. But somehow, even in the light, he couldn't make out her face..._

"Jason!" Janet's voice sounded, shattering the vision that had engulfed his mind, bringing him back to reality. He remembered now where he was...he was at the cafe. Janet had excused herself to go to the washroom and he had been left sitting in the booth, his thoughts having drifted to the memory fragment which had suddenly resurfaced.

But now, Janet was back. And her face was as pale as a ghost. She looked shocked, almost hysterical...all his instincts aroused, Bourne stood up and made his way to her.

"What happened?" he asked, and noticed the cellphone in her hands. "I...just got the call", said Janet, having regained her composure. "Charles...my assistant...they just found him..._dead_".

"Dead!" Bourne exclaimed so loudly that one or two people at the adjoining booth turned to stare at him. "Come on", he said, leaving behind a few francs on the table and rushing her out into the street.

"We'd better get there. I don't think it's safe out here on the streets", said Janet, as she moved towards her car.

ooo

Charles Drexel's body had been found in a battered looking black sedan, parked outside an abandoned warehouse in the La Defence business district of Paris. Preliminary examination revealed that he had been drugged first, and then shot in the throat...

_Carlos_

The Jackal had trained his daughter _too _well in the ways of his world...

Janet had shakily related these facts to him as they drove towards the crime scene. They arrived to find the area around the battered sedan cordoned off. A swarm of reporters and curious onlookers were just about held back by officers of the Surete. Both Surete and Interpol men were milling around, questioning witnesses, taking down statements, collecting evidence...paramedics were on stand-by, waiting for the go-ahead to remove the body from the scene.

Janet waved her Interpol ID and bought herself and Bourne passage through the crowds and past the cordon.

At the sight of her partner's corpse, Janet gasped. She looked unsteady for a few moments, as though she were about to faint. But then she regained her composure and looked up at the tall Interpol man in a black overcoat who was supervising the photographing of the body.

"Philippe", she said.

The Interpol officer, Philippe, nodded grimly and said in a sympathetic tone, "I can't tell you how sorry I am, Janet". He sighed. "First Madeline...now Charles...what is the world coming to?"

He then shot a glance at Jason and gave a questioning look to Janet. Bourne promptly said, "Andrew Franklin. DOD."

"American", Philippe muttered, seemingly to himself. "I should have known that you people would be interested".

"What do you mean?" Janet asked.

"There have been...rumours", said Philippe hesitantly, "about the case you've been working on, Janet. Whispers of course...but too many whispers do cause a cacophony...And the method used here...bullet to the throat..." He paused and added in an almost fearful whisper, "Are we really dealing with..._him_?"

"We're dealing with _her_", said Bourne firmly. "But the fewer people know about that, the better. Understand?"

"Yes-yes of course", said Philippe. "_Cherchez la femme_", he whispered to himself sardonically. "Who is she? _His _mistress? His wife?"

Bourne ignored him and moved towards the car, carefully examining the interior. He knew the Surete and Interpol men would find nothing. No fingerprint...no traces...nothing, except what Illyana would want them to find.

"Did your men find anything in the car?" he asked.

"A sealed envelope in the glove compartment", replied Philippe. "It's evidence. We thought it best to wait till we open it."

"We need to open it _now_", Bourne insisted.

Philippe glanced at Janet again, who simply nodded her assent. He then issued instructions to one of the Interpol officers nearby. Two minutes later, the envelope was in Bourne's hands.

Jason broke the seal and opened the envelope. Several photographs tumbled out. He glanced at the photographs...and felt something inside him give way at first glance...

_The photographs were of Jamie and Allison, surrounded by armed men...time-stamped to indicate they were taken in the early hours of this morning..._

_Jamie and Allison...taken..._

_She had the kids...she had _his _kids..._

The photographs slipped out of his hands, but he did not notice they were gone. The images of his children, held captive, were burned into his consciousness.

The _children_!

He felt a searing pain shoot through his entire being, and at once, he was engulfed by the sights and sounds, of another time and place...

_He could hear the explosions...and the gunfire...a cacophony of violence and death...Death...he could _see _the bodies, floating in the river...lifeless amidst a pool of blood..._

_Dao! Joshua! Alyssa! _Dead!_ All DEAD! And he had done nothing...NOTHING to protect them!_

_DEAD...and it was all his fault...HIS FAULT!_

"JASON!" Janet screamed as he collapsed onto the ground, and let out a low animal groan...convulsing on the floor shouting to no one and anyone in particular... "They're dead...they're _dead_!"

"What happened to him?" Philippe asked. All the onlookers and reporters attention was directed towards Bourne now, as were those of the Surete and Interpol men.

"Someone get a medic!" Janet ordered. "And please, get the crowds away...this man's in deep cover...make sure there aren't any photos!" she added, noticing a lot of cameras in the crowd being directed towards Bourne.

"Jason, listen to me! It's Janet...you need to take a deep breath and calm down..._look _at me! Jason!" she said, bending down, and grabbing his hands.

Bourne turned to look at her, and Janet was shocked, in spite of herself. The man she was looking at wasn't the man she'd got to know these past five days. He wasn't the legendary assassin, the challenger to the supremacy of Carlos...nor was he the steely black ops agent her father had told her about years ago...The man she saw was someone else entirely. A man who had already lost an entire family, the memory of a _lifetime_...and now stood to lose more..._even _more...

"Jason", she said softly, wondering if it was even right for her to use that name. But then again, she had no idea what his _real _name was...her father had never told, if he had ever known it himself.

He looked at her again, "She has the kids", he whispered. "That _bitch _has my kids".

Janet wordlessly stared at the photographs lying on the floor, and gathered them. "We'll get them back", she assured him. "And the bitch will pay for what she's done...but right now we need to take care of you...get you out of here! Too many people...you _understand_...?"

Jason looked at her and nodded mutely.

The crowd has largely dispersed. The story spread was that one of the investigators had had a sudden seizure while looking at the evidence. That would be sufficient to satisfy the curiosity of the press...or so Janet hoped...

Jason gulped down a bottle of mineral water one of the paramedics handled him, but refused the pills they offered.

Suddenly, the sound of a cellphone vibrating in his pocket became clearly audible...

Janet looked at him. "I think that's..._yours_".

Puzzled, Jason reached into his pocket...and pulled out the phone which had been slipped into his hand at the airport the previous morning...

Tension mounted across his body...every instinct told him _exactly _who it was on the phone...and knew he had no choice but to answer.

"Jason Bourne", the voice said. It was, as he had predicted, a woman's voice. A voice without a definable accent...almost a ghost of a voice...yet clearly audible...

"Illyana", he replied.

"So you know who I am? Good...it was all part of the plan", Carlos' daughter replied. "Just like your children at my mercy was also part of the plan".

"Whatever this is...it's between you and me...leave my children out of it", said Jason. 

"No...whatever this is...was between you and my _father_. And you didn't do him the favour of leaving _me _out of it", Illyana replied. "Your swim in the Mediterranean made you forget...but I have _never _forgotten!"

"What do you want?" Jason asked.

"That's an exceedingly foolish question...hardly one worthy of the legendary 'Chameleon'" Illyana replied mockingly. "_Madrid_", she said. "It will end where it began." She paused and added, "I would ask you to come alone...but then again, your _ego _would permit no less!"

Then...silencer. The line was disconnected.

Jason stared at the phone for a few seconds...and hurled the hateful instrument at the ground.

He then stared at Janet.

"Madrid", he said, simply.

ooo

Illyana put down her phone. She could not but help feel a strange sense of exhilaration...of excitement...coursing through her veins. The report she had received from her 'eyes' at the site of Charles Drexel's death had almost satisfied her lust...her lust for _vengeance_...

And it was only a matter of time before it was satiated completely!

She had never wanted this life. She had never wanted to be part of her father's shadow world. Her father after all had been this indistinct figure for most of her childhood...gentle with her and her alone...but still distant enough that he was not much more than a stranger.

Her mother of course had been different, at first. But by the time she was eleven, she had realized her mother was, in many ways, no different from _him_. She was a part of his world as well...and she'd had to leave, because of her obligations to that world...

But she'd liked the villa in Madrid. She'd felt safe there. A semblance of normalcy had entered her life...almost. As normal as life could be...living in a house filled with armed mercenaries, under a false name. But there were times when she imagined she truly _was _Maria Gonzalez. A girl neglected by her parents...an heiress to a fortune of blood money...and yet, in that regard, not unlike many other such girls across the world...

However, everything changed that one fateful night, when some of her father's most trusted lieutenants themselves came and escorted her, under cover of darkness, out of the villa. Out of Spain, even. She didn't know why...she didn't know what had happened. Until days later, when she was visited by her father, whom she hadn't seen for over a year at that point. And he told her the truth...

Romero, the man whose job it had been to protect her, a man whom she'd actually come to like and trust, had _betrayed _her to her father's enemies! And they had come for her...a man named Jason Bourne had come to abduct her, take her hostage to lure her father into a trap...

But her father had anticipated Romero's betrayal the moment he'd been arrested. So he had had her whisked away from the villa, and _replaced _her with a decoy! A young woman who superficially at least, looked much like her...a "loyal servant" of the Jackal...

Her father told her about the horrors that girl had had to face at Bourne's hands. How she had been kept deprived of food and water, bound and gagged, tortured by Bourne and his guns-for-hire...for _three _days while the killer Chameleon waited for his quarry...

And as he told her about the girl's ordeal, there was only one thing which Illyana could think off...one inalienable fact that echoed in her mind over and _over _again...

_It could have been her._

The girl who had been abducted and _tortured _at Bourne's hands..._was _her..._would _have been her, but for her father's foresight.

In the end, the girl had taken her own life...having lost the strength to live after three days as Bourne's captive. Her father showed her the photographs of the girl's body, and while doing so, said the words which already haunted her, and would haunt her for years to come...

"_It could have been you_".

Jason Bourne had come for her. And Jason Bourne would have killed her.

All because she was her father's daughter.

For the first time in her life, she realized that she would never be able to escape the shadow of her father's world...no matter who she pretended to be, and where she hid herself, the fact that she was Illyana Angelique Sanchez, daughter of Carlos the Jackal, would never cease to be her perpetual death warrant...

But the thought of doing something about it, of fighting back, was yet to occur to her...No! That was wrong! The seeds for her retaliation _had _been planted then...but they only germinated later...

It was not very long after when she received word of her mother's death. Her mother had been found, naked on her bed and strangled to death in the house of the man she'd been sent to spy on...strangled to death...by Jason Bourne.

She remembered meeting her father, when he'd just returned from New York; frustrated by his failure to kill Bourne yet again. He had stared into her face...and she had stared into his...and in that moment, a strange, over-powering bond formed between father and daughter.

A bond of hatred. A bond of vengeance.

She embraced her heritage...and became part of her father's world. She trained under him, and his best men. For years she trained and prepared herself...never forgetting her ultimate purpose...

_Bourne_.

She remembered her last meeting with her father. Her father had been getting older...weaker, though he refused to admit that to himself...he had gathered all his strength for one last hunt...

But he must have known, deep down inside, that the chances for failure were too great...

So he gave her the tools to succeed...if he failed.

He told her about Bourne's family. About the life he'd built for himself in the United States, as David Webb. And about his _children_...they were his weakness, much like _she _had almost been her father's weakness...

He also told her more about Eduardo Romero, the man who had betrayed her. He told her where to find him, and what to do with him. And about the _other _person who had played a peripheral role in the plot to kidnap her years ago...Bourne's collaborator, and the man who had captured Romero, Interpol officer Paul Renauld.

_All _of them had to pay! Her cycle of vengeance must encompass them _all_! Those were her father's last instructions to her...

Weeks later, he was dead. Killed in Moscow...his death engineered by Jason Bourne.

The world rejoiced at news of the Jackal's death. For them, it was the end of an era of terror.

For Illyana, it was only the beginning...of the terror _she _would inflict on her enemies.

Her first target was Romero. She spent a year planning his demise. She used her father's contacts in the French government..._her _contacts...to get Romero out of prison early.

Romero was released. He did not protest the withdrawal of the security that had been promised him years earlier by Paul Renauld. Carlos was dead...what _had _he to fear?

A week later, she shot him dead. Shot him in the throat with a high-powered rifle.

It had been her first kill...and she felt a satisfaction unlike any other she had ever known in her life.

Her father had warned her against emotion. He had termed it as the liability she could not afford. But Illyana thought otherwise. It was her emotions which powered her...sustained her. Her anger, her grief, her hatred...these were her ultimate weapons against Bourne and all her other enemies.

She spent the next few years rebuilding her father's covert empire of death, spreading her tentacles across the globe. She established a new cover identity for herself, as a successful businesswoman in Madrid. When she heard that Bourne's children had been sent to live in Canada, she in turn sent her most trusted lieutenant, Lucius Tremont, a man her father had recruited himself shortly before his death, to infiltrate Canadian Intelligence and gradually work his way into a position where the Webb children would be within his reach. When she learnt of Paul Renauld's death, she set her sights on his daughter, Janet. It was fitting that the _children _of both her enemies be the ones to suffer...

Years of planning...years of scheming...had culminated in this moment.

And before long...she would avenge her mother, her father...and _herself_...


	12. Chapter 11: The Blackest Op

**The Bourne Vengeance**

**Chapter 11: The Blackest Op**

He had received word from an anguished Johnny St. Jacques...word about what he had already known for over three hours.

The unit Johnson has dispatched on a wild-goose chase had returned to the safehouse to find the remaining members of the security detail dead, the children's caretaker drugged...and Johnson and the children themselves _gone_...

_Johnson._

The _bastard_. The polite, non-descript, deferential Canadian operative had been a mole. One of Illyana Sanchez's soldiers. _He _had taken the kids.

And he would pay. Bourne swore to that.

Bourne had sent a photo of Johnson to Soraya, and arranged for one of his Canadian contacts to send Johnson's dossier to her. Johnson had been vetted by Canadian Intelligence, but obviously they had missed something...with any kind of luck, Soraya would be able to run the material through the Treadstone database and find the missing link. Something..._anything_...that would give him an edge in his impending encounter with Carlos' daughter.

He was in his hotel room. Janet was at her office, dealing with the aftermath of Drexel's murder...and also with having to explain his presence. Fortunately, Soraya had agreed to provide him with DOD credentials as Andrew Franklin, much like Conklin had years earlier when he'd worked with Paul Renauld. He felt it would be safe enough for the time being; in any case, as Soraya had said, Interpol wasn't really looking for 'Jason Bourne' these days. He and Janet had also agreed to keep the situation with his kids to themselves...Interpol getting involved would only serve to escalate an already precarious situation. He'd likewise declined help from Soraya, who'd offered to lend the support of her operatives on the ground in Madrid.

His cellphone buzzed and Jason answered. It was Soraya.

"I can't be one hundred percent sure about this, Jason", said Soraya. "All we have is a blurry twelve year old photo to go buy...but I think we may have found a match for your 'Johnson'".

"Who is he?" Bourne asked.

"His name is Lucius Tremont. American national. He started out as a hitman for a Los Angeles Mafia family; but then turned freelancer. Went off the grid completely around nine years ago", said Soraya.

"Thank you", Bourne said softly.

"You're sure I can't do anything else?" Soraya asked.

"No, I- ", Bourne began, but then hesitated. There was something...a small detail he'd overlooked. What was it he'd said to Paul Renauld in that memory flashback? Something about Conklin having sources in Madrid? Yes, that was it. There had been _others_. As much he had liked, and still liked, to work alone, Bourne knew he had placed a lot of hopes on that particular operation. This had been the op which would bag _Carlos _himself once and for all! Obviously, he wouldn't have taken any chances. He _would _have had back-up.

Bourne still didn't remember _what _had happened in the end, but he knew that whatever it was, it was important for him to know before he confronted Illyana Sanchez. Perhaps even critical...

"Listen, Soraya", he said. "You have files from the old Treadstone right?" 

"Not too many of them", Soraya said. "Your old handler sure took his secrets seriously...not that anyone could blame him".

"Conklin had a man in Madrid. A professional. Someone who could be trusted", Bourne said. "I don't remember who he was though. Could you find out for me?" He gave her the approximate time frame.

"Okay, I'll try. What's this about?" Soraya asked.

Jason realized that he hadn't told her all about the mission to kidnap Carlos' daughter. All Soraya knew was that Carlos' daughter had abducted his children.

"It's to do with this job I did in Madrid...years ago. It's...connected to what's going on now. I need to know what really happened", said Jason.

"Okay", said Soraya.

ooo

Jamie Webb was terrified.

He vaguely remembered falling asleep after dinner...and then waking up after what seemed like an eternity, to find himself and his sister Allison on a plane, surrounded by men. Men with _guns_.

And that was when he knew it had finally happened. What his parents, his uncle John, had always feared would happen some day...

All his life, Jamie had known that his family wasn't...entirely normal. For much of his childhood, they had been surrounded by men with guns..._Security guards_, his father had once assured him. He knew, judging by the anxious expressions he'd often seen on his parent's faces, that there was always _something _out there...which they needed to be protected against. There had been the time, when he was nearly five, when he and Allison had spent _weeks _away from home...during which his father, and later his mother, had disappeared, and Jamie actually feared he would never see them again! Though of course, they had come back. And for some time after that, his parents had seemed happier...his father especially. It had seemed almost like a cloud had been lifted from over their heads. But even that didn't last for too long...

Jamie had always known that all this had something to do with his father. His father used to have headaches, nightmares which used to wake the whole house sometimes. His father's friend, Mo Panov ('Uncle Mo' to him and his sister), often used to visit and spend hours with his father, talking about something. His mother had once told him that 'Uncle Mo' was a doctor; that his father had once had an accident years ago and lost his memory and that 'Uncle Mo' was trying to help him remember his past.

And then there had been the time, when Jamie had been too inquisitive, too probing in his questions, in his curiosity...that his Uncle John had had no choice but to tell him the truth, or at least part of it. That his father had been a secret agent of sort's years ago; kind of like James Bond! That his father had enemies who might try to hurt them all, which was why they had to be careful. That was why his father couldn't be with them...had left them on the ranch with their grandparents and Uncle John after his mother died. Because it was too dangerous for him to be with them...

But it had happened now. One of his father's enemies had kidnapped him and Allison both. And they were now in some kind of basement, sitting on chairs, with several armed men all around the room.

And then a woman came in. She was tall, had dark hair, and looked like she had a tan. She looked straight into his eyes, and then Allison's eyes. She then said in a low voice that sent chills down Jamie's spine.

"I wish I could say how sorry I was for all this", said the woman. "But that would be pointless. You should have known the price for having a father like this...and you should have been prepared to pay it...a long time ago!"

And in that moment, Jamie knew that this wasn't just a game. This woman wasn't some villain in a cop flick or a Saturday morning cartoon with tough talk. This woman _would _kill both him and Allison.

_Dad will find us...Dad will save us..._he kept trying to assure to himself...but with every hour that passed without their father coming to save them...Jamie grew more and more afraid...

ooo

"I think I have what you wanted", said Soraya. "His name is Sebastian Martinez. American citizen. Spanish father, American mother. Recruited and trained by Alexander Conklin; primarily for wet-work. The Agency had to cut him loose after one of his ops...stepped on a few too many diplomatic toes, but Conklin had him move to Madrid, continued to pay him under the table, and retained him as a local asset."

"Sebastian Martinez", Jason said to himself. "Yeah, that name _does _vaguely ring a bell".

"It should. Martinez was about the only agent in the area, during the time frame you indicated, who Conklin would trust to be involved in a sensitive Treadstone op", said Soraya.

"Just give me his address...I'll pay him a visit".

ooo

_Madrid, Spain_

Jason vaguely remembered having visited the city several times in the past, but the one visit he _didn't _remember completely was what bothered him the most as he walked out of the airport, always keeping an eye out for tails.

His first objective was Sebastian Martinez. Jason was sure he knew the man, and his gut instinct told him Martinez had been involved with the mission to abduct Carlos' daughter. With any kind of luck, before the day was out, he would know the whole truth.

A part of him, as always, didn't _want _to know...but Bourne resisted the urge to escape the truth he often felt at times like this. Experience had taught him he could never outrun the past for too long...and that he shouldn't even try in a situation where knowledge of the past would prove vital to present strategies.

Bourne arrived at the address, in one of the more upscale localities deep in the city. Martinez ran a small risk-management firm and evidently it had met with considerable success.

Jason couldn't quite make out if the man who answered the door was a housekeeper or a bodyguard. Probably both. He introduced himself as 'Jason Bourne' and asked for Martinez.

A few minutes later, he was ushered into a comfortable living room, with a very surprised looking Sebastian Martinez entering the room shortly thereafter.

"Jason", he said, surprised. "My God...after all this time! I can hardly believe it".

Bourne carefully studied the other man's face. He was a tall rugged looking man, dressed casually in a chequered shirt and blue jeans, with slightly bronzed skin, and the slightest hint of a black French beard, complementing his somewhat overgrown hair. He realized that he vaguely remembered the man, although he was pretty sure that when they'd last met, Martinez was clean-shaven.

"Mr. Martinez", he began, but Martinez cut him off. "Please, Jason...Sebastian!"

"I'm sorry", Bourne said with a wry smile. "To be very frank, I really don't remember you all that well".

"It's okay. You don't need to pretend", Martinez said, taking a seat. "Alex told me what happened in Marseilles, years ago".

"Well, I'm glad we have that over with", Jason said. "Actually, in a way, that's the reason I came to you". He paused and added, "It's about this job I think we worked together on once...a long time ago".

"I think I worked with you about three-four times", Martinez said. "Could you be more specific?" 

"It concerned a villa on the outskirts of Madrid...I needed to grab someone...a girl", Jason said.

At the mention of the girl, Martinez's expression darkened...a cloud seemed to pass over his face as his smile vanished.

"Oh...that", he said plainly.

"It's important for me to know what happened", said Jason. Then he added, "I know whatever happened was...unpleasant..."

"Unpleasant", Martinez said with a short laugh. "Unpleasant!" he repeated again. "Oh Jason, in this line of work, you see _many _unpleasant thing! Hell, _I _should know! The suits in Washington could never stand the blood and gore but people like you and me...we _live _with it every second on the field."

He paused and continued grimly, "But what happened on _that _op...was something beyond just 'unpleasantnesses".

"It wasn't an easy call to make for me to make, Sebastian", Jason said. "Kidnapping a child...even if she was Carlos' daughter..." 

"Oh I never had too much of a problem with that part of it. The plan was solid...and the payoff was _huge_. Grab one girl, hold her for a few days...and you save the lives of _hundreds _of men, women and children all over the world. If not thousands", said Martinez. "Hell, it was probably the _only _way we were going to take Carlos _alive_".

He paused and added, "The problem was what happened _after _we grabbed her...after it was all over and I took a long hard look at myself and wondered if this is what I'd signed up for..."

"Start at the beginning", said Jason.

"Very well, then. I had the place watched, and anyone who left it was put under round-the-clock surveillance. My people were pretty clear on the fact that the target...this 'Maria Gonzalez' I think her name was...was very much still inside the villa. Hadn't left it for weeks. So you decided to move. You got inside at night, took out the entire security detail, chloroformed the girl...I had a van waiting outside. We moved the girl to a safehouse Alex had arranged for. You stayed there, with about five men I'd hired. Five men, armed to the teeth. And of course, Alex had put other men on the street...keeping a look out for Carlos or any of his men. We'd planted a few rumours in the underworld...stories that the mysterious 'Cain' had kidnapped someone being protected by Carlos. The story about what happened at the villa was in the news, naturally. There was also a careful trail which led back to the safehouse...one we were sure the local authorities wouldn't have much luck with, but which Carlos would definitely be able to follow. The plan was that when Carlos showed up, you and the men there would take him. Once he was secure, we'd get him to a military airfield where Alex had a plane waiting to get him to the States. The scenario was air-tight. Even if he suspected a trap...Carlos would hardly play with the life of his own daughter! If she _was _his daughter...and that's where the problem arose..."

"Wait", said Jason. "Are you telling me...she _wasn't _Carlos' daughter?"

"You were there three days, and already we'd started to suspect that things weren't working out. There was absolutely _no _sign of activity on Carlos' part, or anyone else's part. A total blank. Nothing", said Martinez. "You got fed up...you started questioning the girl. She kept denying that she was Carlos' daughter. By the third day though, she'd admitted to being Carlos' daughter, and mocked you...told you that her father wouldn't fall into your trap...that he wouldn't come for her!"

"She said that?" Jason asked, surprised.

"That's what you told me. She said that and she laughed. She was getting pretty hysterical in the end. It may explain what she did next", Martinez said.

"Go on", Jason said, though he had a definite feeling he knew what was coming next.

"She killed herself. Cyanide, in a tooth. You never bothered to check her for cyanide...it never occurred to you. And why _would _it? She was a _girl _for heaven's sake...a girl of _sixteen_. Even if she was Carlos' daughter...but that's what happened. On the fourth morning, you found the girl dead...foaming at her mouth...".

With a sickening feeling in his stomach, Bourne started to remember. He remembered seeing the girl's dead face...the cyanide foaming at her mouth...

Later, they'd found out she had been lying. She _wasn't _Carlos' daughter. She had been an impoverished street girl, a teenage prostitute whom Carlos had found...and trained to play the part of his 'daughter'. She had been willing to let herself be kidnapped, and ultimately even take her own life...for she'd given birth to a child recently, and Carlos had promised her that her child would be taken care of, if she sacrificed herself in his service.

It has all been a ruse by Carlos. A _fabrication_. And for what? Two assassins playing mind-games which each other? A covert move and counter-move on the invisible chessboard of international espionage?

Had it been worth a girl's _life_?

He had kidnapped a girl in the dead of night; had restrained her, drugged her, intimidated her, in his frustration even _brutalized _her once or twice...and for what? To end up with a dead body...and _nothing _else...

He had wondered then, why had Carlos even bothered to go through with this ruse. What did he gain from meaninglessly sacrificing a girl he could have found a million more useful ways to sacrifice?

But now he realized why. The answer was crystal clear.

_Illyana_.

Carlos _wanted _him to abduct the girl...and _wanted _the imposter to die in his custody. Because he wanted his daughter to know what _could _have been her fate-he wanted to awaken feelings of fear, and eventually, vengeance in her...as part of her indoctrination into his world.

Carlos had _used _him...to create his successor...

"Jason, are you all right?" Martinez asked, concerned at his long silence.

"I'm fine", he lied. "Listen to me very carefully, Sebastian", he continued, a strategy rapidly forming in his mind, "The girl I kidnapped...wasn't Carlos' daughter. But Carlos' daughter very much _exists_...and she's got a couple of kid's hostage. _My _kids".

"What do you need me to do?" asked Martinez.

"You got me into that villa once. I need to do it again", replied Jason softly.

_It will end where it began._


	13. Chapter 12: The Jackal's Den

**The Bourne Vengeance**

**Chapter 12: The Jackal's Den**

**A/N: **There hasn't been a whole lot of action in this fic so far...this chapter will hopefully remedy that...

"_Bourne was _never _my equal. He was always second to me...and that is why, in this little game of ours, I shall triumph. But I am not so prideful as to deny the fact that I am no longer what I once was", said her father, speaking as much to himself as he was to her. _

_He then looked at her. Under his penetrating stare, even the coldest of killers trembled...but _she_ didn't. There had been a time when she'd been afraid of him...but those days were long behind her. Long behind both of them._

_The feelings she had for him were...indecipherable, to say the least. It was not love; at least not the kind most daughters would have for their fathers. She was as far removed from the American stereotype of 'Daddy's little girl' as was humanely possible! Nor did she feel that it was necessarily their mutual desire for vengeance against Jason Bourne that united them; though that was certainly the stimulus for their union. Rather, it was a strangely symbiotic relationship. From him, she derived her strength, her cunning, her skill, above all, her predator's instinct...and he in turn, by channelling his own power through her youthful frame, had cemented his own legacy. The legend of the Jackal would live on in her being, even if he were to perish at Bourne's hands. She was his successor...in more than title and blood._

"_There exists the possibility, however remote, that the pretender, not I, shall walk away from this battlefield alive", he continued. "If that were to happen...I know I can rely upon the fact that I will continue to wage this war through you"._

"_You _can _be assured of that, Father", she replied._

"_Illyana, my child", he said in his low cold voice, "I'm afraid I have kept back certain discoveries I've made recently about our oldest enemies. But now I think it is time I give you the tools to defeat them...to _destroy _them, when the time is right"_

_And so he told her. About Jason Bourne's family. About the prison where Eduardo Romero was currently lodged and the contacts who could prematurely get him back into the open. And about the Interpol officer Paul Renauld, who had collaborated with Bourne in the plot to abduct her. Renauld had led Interpol units across Europe on an offensive against her father's contacts, his networks...his entire infrastructure in the continent; both as a diversion from the abduction, as well as to minimize the assets he could employ in his attempts to recover her. Her father had anticipated the plot, and consequently the damage done was minimal; but for the unforgivable crime of conspiring with the pretentious Chameleon alone, Renauld deserved to pay..._

"_Family. That's their weakness, Bourne's and Renauld's" he had concluded. "Particularly for Bourne. His family is one of his few anchors to the 'humanity' he values so much. They can be used against him, both psychologically and logistically. In Renauld's case, his daughter is the only family he has left after the premature death of his wife. And unlike Bourne, he hasn't adequately anticipated the possibility that his family could be threatened by his profession. That makes him vulnerable. Use their families to destroy them...like they once tried to destroy _me _through you"._

"_And Romero?" she asked._

"_He must be the first to go", her father said. "The traitor must die like all traitor's must...you know where to aim, don't you my child?"_

"_Yes, father", she replied. _

"_I have faith in you", he said. "You will destroy the Chameleon...even if I fail. Do not disappoint me"._

Illyana sat by the window of her bedroom. It was her old room, the one she used to sleep in back when she lived at the villa as 'Maria Gonzales'. It was this room which Jason Bourne had clandestinely entered over a decade ago, and from which he had abducted the girl he'd believed was _her_.

She had been in a strange state of anticipation from the moment she'd woken up. Somehow she instinctively sensed that there was something special about this day. _Today was the day_, she told herself. The day it would happen; the culmination of years of planning and preparation.

Today was the day she would revenge herself on Jason Bourne.

She didn't know how or why she had this feeling, but once it had gripped her, the anticipation had consumed her entire being.

And in these moments, she could not but help remember that last meeting with her father. He had placed his faith in her, but he knew as well as she did that she was not his equal. No matter how skilled she was, no matter how resourceful, she simply lacked that sheer aura of power and respect that her father had exuded by his very presence.

She knew that her men didn't fear her the way her father's men had feared _him_. Then again, the vast majority of her organization were unaware of who she _truly _was. They knew her merely as someone claiming to be the 'son' of Carlos...only a few trusted soldiers, some of whom had worked for her father, knew who she really was...

But even from them, she did not sense the equal parts fear and respect they would have felt for her father. Not even from Lucius Tremont. True, the man was loyal, trustworthy even...but he was also _exceedingly _well-paid. And therein lay the problem-Money was the prime motivation for many of her soldiers! Not fear, not respect, not loyalty...but money. These men would never have _dared _defect from her father in pursuit of better remuneration...but they would hesitate very little before deserting _her _for greener pastures!

Tonight, she would change all that, forever. After she had successfully executed Jason Bourne, the one enemy who had eluded even her legendary father, she would be fit to command the respect of _armies _in the underworld across the globe! After Bourne was dead, she would be free to rule the world in a way even her father could only have dreamt off!

After tonight, she would not just be Carlos's daughter...she would _be _Carlos!

ooo

"_You promised me you would protect the children, David", said Marie, looking at him with disappointed eyes. "You promised me you would do whatever it took to keep Jamie and Allison safe!"_

"_I...tried", he said, trying to find the words to explain himself...knowing all too well there weren't any._

"_But in the end..." Marie continued, ignoring him, "You _failed _them, David! Just like you failed Joshua and Alyssa! You failed _all _your children, darling! And now it's time for you to run away and forget...like you always do..."_

"_No...Marie...I'm not running away!" he said feverishly, trying with all his might to convince. Or convince himself? "I'll _find _them, Marie! I'll bring them back...I SWEAR I'LL BRING THEM BACK!"_

Jason awoke to find himself lying spread-eagled on his bed, the sheets tangled all over his body. He was sweating profusely, and panting, as he instinctively scanned the hotel room, looking for unseen attackers.

But there weren't any. The only attacker present in the room was his own mind. And the nightmares it conjured up.

There was a small consolation though. At least he had not dreamt of Illyana Sanchez. Or rather, the unfortunate girl who had impersonated her. Considering the fact that, before sundown, he would likely be at the villa where it had all happened, he really didn't want to have to think too much about all _that_...

ooo

They were in Janet's hotel room, pouring over the maps and photographs Martinez had procured for them; of the villa and its surroundings. The former CIA point man also agreed to carry out an active surveillance of the property, and of anyone who left it to go into town. By noon, Jason had photographs, as blurry and indistinct as some of them were, of several of Illyana's man; as well as descriptions and license plate numbers of their cars. He constantly received updates from one of Martinez's men.

Jason had asked Martinez why he was going out of his way to help them, to which Martinez had replied with a wry smile, "We messed up real bad on that op, Jason...this is just my way of undoing the damage. My penance, if you like".

And what would _his _penance be, Bourne wondered to himself. From his point of view, the most practical, indeed the _only _realistic outcome to this situation was Illyana Sanchez's death. There really didn't seem to be any alternative solution. He was responsible, at least partially, for her transformation into an assassin...and now he would be the one who ensured she died an assassin's death...

"No underground tunnels, no connecting sewers...no way to get in from beneath", Janet said. "No way to get in from _above _either...not when they're expecting you. And it's not like you can walk up to the front door, though that's probably what she wants you to do".

"It's her men...they're the key. They're the only contact between that villa and the outside world", he said. "I could grab one of them, impersonate him...get inside".

"Jason, as good a chameleon as you are, she's _expecting _you. She's knows all your moves...hell, she's spent half her life studying them!" said Janet. "I'm pretty sure each and every one of her guards has committed your face to memory...and each other's as well. Anything remotely out of place...any face that doesn't belong or looks remotely like yours...you get the picture?"

"Your right", said Bourne. "But I still think her men are the key."

"You may be right", Janet agreed. She stared curiously at the photographs of the men and the vehicles. And then she exclaimed, "Jason, I think I've got it!"

"What?" he asked.

She tapped one of the photographs; that of a black SUV. "This car...it's large enough for you to conceal yourself in, at the back, without detection".

"Ride in the boot", Jason muttered to himself. "That sounds childishly absurd".

"Sometimes, the simplest plans are the most effective ones", said Janet dryly.

"You're right", Bourne agreed, cursing himself silently for forgetting this maxim which he usually followed religiously. But there was no point in denying to himself that he was less than his normal self. All the steely fortitude that the Bourne identity afforded him was unable to protect him from the perpetual realization that his children were in danger. Jamie and Allison's faces continued to flash before his mind's eye, their features vague and indistinct, occasionally morphing into those of Joshua and Alyssa's. He knew he had to focus; tonight, more than ever in his life, he needed to be the supreme guerrilla, the ultimate weapon Alex Conklin had long ago trained him to be. And for that, he needed to forget about the fact that they were _his _children...he needed to view them dispassionately as mission objectives...or he would _really _fail them...

"Jason", Janet intruded on his thoughts.

"I'll tell Martinez's man to concentrate his surveillance on this SUV. When we find out where it is, I'll get myself into position", he said.

"What's your plan when you get inside?" Janet asked.

"I'll take out as many of her men as possible first. Ensure she has no back-up. Then I'll go to her. Chances are she'll have the kids with her", he said.

"And...what about..._her_?" Janet asked cautiously.

Jason stared straight into her eyes and said coldly, "I'd like to take her alive if possible, but somehow I doubt that's going to happen. It's either her or me...that's the way she's set up this scenario".

"Yes...I suppose that's the only answer", Janet said softly, almost as much to herself and to him.

"Look, I wish it didn't have to be this way", said Jason. "Especially with this girl. In a way, _I'm _responsible for what she's become...I just wish she didn't have to pay the price for being Carlos' daughter."

"I'm not blaming you for what happened, Jason", Janet replied, trying to calm him down. "You did what you had to...what you thought was right". She paused and added, "And I'd like to think my father understood that in the end".

Bourne sighed. "Enough talk now", he said. "She's still out there, for whatever reason...and it's time we went to work".

ooo

Illyana's two men were inside the diner. They'd been there for the last ten minutes, according to Martinez's observers.

Bourne had memorized the faces of the men from the photographs he and Janet had poured over earlier. One was a heavy-set bald man. Janet, on closer inspection of the photograph, had identified as a minor hitman in the Munich underworld, who'd fled Germany three years ago. The other was a thin blond man, whom neither Sebastian nor Janet had been able to identify.

While one of Martinez' men kept watch at the entrance of the diner, the other man was with Jason by the black SUV a block down the street; forcing open the back of the vehicle and helping Bourne conceal himself behind a pile of small cardboard crates. A quick inspection of one of the crates revealed that they were a weapons cache; with automatic weapons, smoke and flash grenades, as well as night-vision goggles. Bourne reflected that this cache might prove useful to him if he ran into trouble inside the villa.

"Let your boss know that I'm inside", Bourne said to the man in Spanish. "And thank him for me, once again".

"_Si, senor_", Martinez' man said deferentially, as he slammed the SUV door shut.

Fifteen minutes later, Illyana's men had returned to the SUV, and Bourne heard the rumble of the engine as the vehicle lurched forward.

ooo

The two men spoke very little among themselves, in German. The substance of their brief conversation seemed to revolve around the woman who was calling the shots at the villa; one of Carlos' most loyal lieutenants. From this, Bourne gathered that the majority of her men were unaware of the new Carlos' true identity, and more importantly, her gender. Another point which piqued his interest was the blond man's mention of Lucius Tremont, who had arrived from Canada the previous day, with the two children in tow.

_Tremont_, Bourne thought to himself. So the bastard who'd kidnapped his children from under the noses of Canadian Intelligence was at the villa! It didn't surprise him in the least though...on the contrary, he should have expected it from the start...

They had stopped at what appeared to be a check-point. The bald man said something to someone outside the car, a flashlight shone through the vehicle, though thankfully not illuminating the floor of the back, where Bourne was concealed. Then, there was the sound of gates swinging open and the SUV passed through into the compound.

Five minutes later, after the car had stopped in what was clearly a garage, Jason could hear the sound of the men coming around to the back. Of course, he reflected. They were obviously coming for the crates. The weapons cache! That was what they'd come into town for...to pick up a consignment. And now they were coming to remove it from the car, and in a few moments, he'd be exposed...

The moment, he heard the sound of the boot opening, Bourne lashed out with his right leg, knocking the flashlight out of the hand of the bald man. The other man, having just registered what had happen, was reaching for his gun, but Bourne rushed out of the car and tackled him to the ground, slamming the man's head on the concrete floor of the garage, knocking him out instantly.

By now, the bald German had regained his bearings and had aimed his gun at Bourne's head. In the next split-second, Bourne lashed out at the man's feet with both his legs, causing the man to lose his balance. Jason rolled himself out of the way as the man collapsed on top of his companion. He was up on his feet in an instant and, drawing his own weapon, pistol-whipped the bald man at the back of his head.

The garage entrance was closed; no doubt controlled electronically by a remote control on one of the men. From the faint illumination of the garage's interior, through the moonlight filtering in through the small windows, Bourne could perceive a door at the back; he knew it led to a short passage to the ground level of the villa, according to the blueprints of the place Martinez had managed to procure for him. After grabbing some equipment from the weapons cache, Bourne walked towards that door.

The door was unlocked, and Jason made his way down the short passage. As he neared the end, he noticed a faint light. Holding the Sig Sauer which Martinez's man had provided him with in his hand, Bourne stealthily made his way forward, towards the door left ajar at the end of the passage. And then he realized the source of the light.

It was from a television set. And there were two men, seated on hard-backed wooden chairs in what appeared to be a kitchen, staring at the screen; cradling automatic weapons in their laps.

There was no help for it; he had to take the two men out quietly! He was inside the house now; any sounds of a scuffle and it would bring more men to the kitchen.

Attaching a suppressor to his gun, Jason took aim and shot the first man through the back of his head. The second man whirled around, alerted by the sound of the silenced shot, his hand instinctively reaching for his own weapon, but in the next instant, Jason had put a bullet through his head as well.

He dragged the bodies behind a large refrigerator, away from the faint light cast by the television around the room.

Slipping on the night-vision goggles he'd taken from the SUV, Bourne slipped out of the kitchen. The living room was likewise filled with mercenaries; Jason counted at least six. Thankfully, none of them were equipped with night-vision goggles. The living room was completely dark; he guessed that the lights were out all over the villa in order to avoid attracting the attention of neighbours and passers-by to the property.

He slowly crept towards the stairwell. There was no one guarding it; an oversight which he would now exploit. Somehow, Jason instinctively felt that Illyana would be upstairs. _Why?_

The first floor landing _did _have two men patrolling the corridor. But Bourne knew that this wasn't his objective. It was the floor _above_ where he would find Illyana. But why did he feel so certain of that?

But by the time he'd made it to the second floor landing, the realization had hit him; the realization that had been at the back of his mind all night-he had _been _in this house before! He had stealthily climbed this very staircase, walked these very corridors, on a night much like this...and on that night, just like this night, his objective was the same-Carlos' daughter.

A sense of déjà vu washed over him and he could not stop himself, his mind and memory, from being swept into the past...

_He was here. He was in! He had worked his way through the house from bottom to top, neutralizing all the guards. And now he had cleared his path completely-the path to the girl. Ten minutes from now, he'd have the girl with him...an hour from now, they'd be at the safehouse, and he'd be waiting for Carlos...waiting to strike and end the Jackal's reign of terror once and for all!_

_But even as he made his way to the door, weapon in hand, a part of him was still...hesitant._ _There was no escaping the fact that it was a child he was about to abduct...a _child!_ A girl of sixteen...a girl perhaps very much like what Alyssa would have been; had fate permitted her to live to that age..._

_No! If he wanted to finish the job, achieve his objective...he _had _to lay all hesitation, all qualms to rest. He was Jason Bourne. The perfect soldier! Soon to be vanquisher of Carlos! He could not permit mere sentiment to hinder him...especially not when he was so close..._

_So he reached for the door handle, unflinchingly, unhesitant...but the ghost of David Web; the widower, the father, still haunted him. And all he could do was silently bear the anguish at the back of his mind..._

Bourne snapped back to the present. He knew now exactly where he had to go. That memory fragment had given him the answer. He instinctively knew how to navigate himself through the house...but there were men blocking his path.

No time like the present, Jason thought to himself, and rushed as the two guards stood together in the middle of the room. A powerful round-house kick to the back of the head knocked out one guard instantly. The other guard raised his gun, but Bourne grabbed his arm and twisted it violently such that it broke, while he hastily muffled the man's cry of pain with his other hand. Bourne applied pressure at the appropriate spot on the man's neck, causing him to pass out.

But the faint sounds of the scuffle had alerted someone else in the vicinity, for Bourne sensed the sounds of running footsteps behind him. He whirled around to see a man running towards him, weapon aimed squarely at his chest.

"Don't move", the man said in Spanish.

Bourne's response was to shoot the man in the chest with his own gun, which happened to be at chest-level. He then swiftly shot the man in the head as well.

Jason waited for a few moments for the sounds of more footsteps, but there weren't any. He then made his way swiftly to the door which he vaguely remembered. With bated breath, he waited for a minute before he kicked in the door with all his force, and walked into the room, gun instinctively aimed at the bed...

_The girl had woken up at the sound of the door being kicked in. She stared first at his gun, and then at him, with frightened eyes._

_There was something perversely mesmerizing about this scene, Jason reflected. Here he was, standing in the bedroom of a teenage girl, aiming a gun at her while she was in the 'safety' of her bed...it sounded like a scene straight from a gangster movie about kidnap plots and ransoms. And in this particular story, _he _was the gangster, the 'child-napper'...and Carlos was the ransom!_

"_Be quiet", he said in a harsh whisper; then repeated himself in Spanish. He moved slowly towards the bed, the gun aimed at the girl's forehead every second. It sickened him...just as what he was about to do sickened him...but that wouldn't stop him._

And then, all of a sudden, she was gone. _Vanished_...into the past. And Bourne was left pointing at empty gun at the pillow.

He was alone in the room.

Bourne cursed himself. What had happened was as clear as crystal...he had let himself be guided by instincts and vague memories from his last visit to the house...guided to _this _room.

There _had _been someone here then, but there wasn't anyone here now...Carlos' daughter was lying in wait for him elsewhere. Not in the room where he had abducted her imposter.

Suddenly, in the midst of darkness, there was _light_. Bourne instinctively raised his hands to protect his eyes against the sudden burst of illumination. He hurriedly slipped the night-vision goggles he was wearing off.

It was the bathroom! A bathroom connected to the bedroom. The lights had been turned on inside the bathroom, and they were streaming into the bedroom through the door left ajar. And from that doorway, slowly, emerged a man...

It took Bourne barely a split-second to recognise him.

ooo

Lucius Tremont smirked. "This is the end of the road, Mr. _Webb_".

"Tremont", Bourne growled.

"Oh, so you know who I am?" Tremont commented; his own gun aimed at Bourne's chest. "Probably just as well".

"I swear to God I'm going to kill you", Bourne said evenly, and he meant it. It was because of _this _man that Jamie and Allison were currently a hair's breathe away from death.

At the back of his mind, he noted the world of difference between the mild-mannered and deferential 'Agent Johnson', non-descript in a dull grey business suit; and the ruthless assassin and former Mafia enforcer 'Lucius Tremont', alert, arrogant, prideful, almost luxuriating in his expensive brown leather jacket worn over a silk white shirt and a pair of well-tailored dark trousers. The man was a brilliant chameleon, Jason had to admit to himself; perhaps not necessarily in the physical sense like he was, but definitely behaviourally.

"Hell, if I had it my way, I'd waste you here and now", Tremont said coldly. "Five years! Five years I spent suffocating in Canada because of your two brats! _That _would have been reason enough for me to waste them..._and _you".

"Yeah? Too bad your mistress has other plans", Bourne replied, his own gun trained at Tremont's head. Bourne hoped to keep the man distracted during their Mexican standoff so he could find an opening in which to act.

"My _mistress_?" Tremont exclaimed sardonically. "She's not my 'mistress'...or anyone else's. I'm only here because I owed the old man one...and of course, my sweet twenty million pay-off for this job alone. Once she's done with you I'm out of here!"

"Looks like she could certainly work on her HR policy", Bourne commented sarcastically.

"She really doesn't give a damn about the business either way. She's just a little girl crying for Mommy and Daddy", Tremont said mockingly.

"Well, chatting about your boss isn't getting us anywhere here", said Bourne.

"You're right", said Tremont, and then did something which stunned Bourne. He casually tossed his gun away, letting it fall onto the bed.

In the moment Bourne took to register surprise at this unexpected move...in the split-second that his attention was diverted to the discarded weapon...Tremont charged towards him like a bull, tackling him to the floor.

The dual impact of Tremont's collision against his body and his body's collision with the floor completely knocked the wind out of Bourne. His gun flew across the room owing to the impact and he felt a searing pain in his head.

Tremont grabbed his head and was preparing to slam it against the floor, when Bourne raised his left arm and brought it down hard against Tremont's neck. As Tremont yet out a low groan of pain, Bourne was able to gather his legs together and kick Tremont's body off him. Tremont rolled along with the impact, and in the next instant, both men were on their feet, panting, and circling each other like boxers in a ring.

Bourne knew that Tremont had the advantage-that first charge had taken a lot of the fight out of him. But his surprise tactic of throwing away his weapon notwithstanding, Tremont's fighting style was predictable. Whereas he, with his vast knowledge of both Western and Oriental martial arts, had the advantage of unpredictability.

Spotting something at the corner of his eye, Bourne lunged across the room, past Tremont. Tremont whirled around, surprised, but in the next instant, Bourne had grabbed a small chair he'd spied and rammed it against Tremont's stomach. The assassin screamed in pain and looked visibly disoriented. With all his strength, he pushed Tremont across the room with the chair, and pinned him against the opposite wall.

Now, Bourne threw the chair away, and lashed out at Tremont's stomach with his right leg, delivering a powerful kick there, before proceeding with a kick to his temple. Tremont was now completely disoriented, and almost collapsed onto Bourne. Bourne almost did not notice the flash of silver as a knife cut through his jacket and T-shirt. As dazed as he was, Tremont has still had the endurance to brandish a knife from his pocket and attempt to stab Bourne. Seizing his momentary advantage, Tremont punched Bourne repeatedly, ferociously even, on the chest. But his blows were weak, far too weak to hold back Bourne.

Bourne simply dropped to his knees. Tremont's reactions having slowed owing to the blows to his head and neck, had barely bent downwards to look at Bourne, by the time Bourne had circled around _behind _his opponent. A powerful chop to Tremont's back brought him down to his knees.

And now it was time to end it. Bourne brought his powerful arms around Tremont's neck. For one brief mesmerizing moment they were both completely still-killer and soon-to-be-victim; the silence broken by both their panting, and in Tremont's case, groans of pain.

Then, in one swift motion, Bourne broke Tremont's neck.


	14. Chapter 13: Moment of Reckoning

**The Bourne Vengeance**

**Chapter 13: Moment of Reckoning**

**A/N: **Here it is...the grand finale! The confrontation between Jason Bourne and Carlos' daughter, Illyana Angelique Sanchez...

Illyana knew that Jason Bourne was in the villa. Tremont had sent her a text that he had entered her old bedroom..._just _as she had predicted!

She had instructed Tremont to neutralize Bourne and bring him to her, but not, under _any _circumstances, to kill him. _That _was a privilege she had reserved for herself. No, not reserved..._inherited_, from her father!

In the meantime, as she awaited his arrival, she had enough to amuse herself with.

"Ah...Senorita Renauld", she said, as two of her men dragged in the heavily bruised and semi-conscious form of Janet Renauld into the semi-lit basement, from a back entrance.

The Renauld woman looked glanced at her, with a vague faraway look. Then comprehension dawned upon her features.

"_You_", she said, weakly, and yet with a certain force.

"Yes...me", she said. Then, noticing the abundance of blood on the Interpol officer's left arm, she asked one of the men in Spanish, "Why was she shot? I'd asked for her to be brought in with _minimal _damage".

"She resisted. Shot Pedro in the chest. We had no choice but to give her a flesh wound so we could get close enough for the needle", the man explained.

"Very well then", she ordered sharply. "Get her wound dressed. She's lost a lot of blood...and I want her alive and conscious for the time being".

While one of her men had laid Janet on a chair and was applying antiseptic and bandaging her wound, Illyana dropped to her knees, to the level of Janet's face. She took out her knife and slowly creased it across the other woman's face, drawing the tiniest trickle of blood.

Janet's eyes looked into Illyana's, and for a strange few seconds, the two women stared at each other.

"I never had the pleasure of meeting your father", Illyana said in French. "Unfortunately, he was too busy running across Europe doing Jason Bourne's bidding".

Janet stayed silent.

"Oh, we've got a quiet one here, don't we?" said Illyana, mockingly.

"I know what you're thinking..._Mademoiselle_", she continued. "You think that you'll keep my occupied with that poker face, while Bourne rushes in, like a knight in one of those stupid 'fairy tales', save the damsel in distress and slay the dragon". She let out a harsh laugh. "But that's not the way it works, I'm afraid. When Bourne walks in, I'll make him go down on his knees and beg for mercy...for you and for his children. I'll make him watch me kill his son, and then his daughter...by then he'll be too numbed to even care about your death...and after you are _all _finished...I will put a bullet in his throat and carve his face off with my knife!"

"You're _insane_", Janet said plainly.

"Insane!" Illyana let out another, almost inhuman, laugh. The mercenaries in the room were looking uncomfortably at each other, both concerned and embarrassed by their employer's unstable behaviour.

"You...your father..." Janet continued. "You're all the...same." She gasped in pain, "You think the world _belongs _to you..."

"After tonight...it will", Illyana replied.

"I doubt that", said Janet. "You're just...a lost little girl...caught up in a blood feud".

"'Lost little girl'", Illyana mimed. "The only 'lost little girl' I see here is you...straying into a unknown territory hoping to get lucky...like your friend, Madeline Dubois. _She _was..._amusing_...to play with".

At the mention of her late friend and colleague, Janet almost sat up, her face contorted with fury. "_You_..."

"Yes, that was me", Illyana said, enjoying the reaction she had provoked in her prisoner. "I don't leave _all _the dirty work to the hired help after all".

"And now...as intriguing as this little...discourse...of ours has been", Illyana said, standing up again. "Your friend Bourne will be here momentarily...and I need to prepare for the _funerals_".

She then issued an order to bring the Webb children in...

ooo

Bourne had no regrets about Lucius Tremont's death. But he could not but help reflect...Tremont was a killer, and had kidnapped innocent children in order to lure their father into a trap. He was, and had done, _precisely _the same thing! So what _was _the difference between him and Tremont? The fact that Tremont worked for a terrorist, and he had worked for the US Government? That hardly seemed a satisfying enough distinction...

He made his way down again, neutralizing the few guards that remained. He was recovering from the fight with Tremont, but what he needed most of all was to summon the _mental _strength and fortitude he would require for his encounter with Carlos' daughter.

It was the basement of course! It should have been obvious from the start. Illyana wouldn't risk anyplace which would allow him to make a quick entrance and exit; nor a place which could leave her vulnerable to a sniper's bullet fired from outside. However, Tremont's presence her bedroom implied that she had _expected _him to go there first.

Yes, she had been manipulating him right from the start; leaving behind a trail of clues, prodding and provoking him, manoeuvring him down a pre-determined path. The murder of the Interpol officer Madeline Dubois in order to bring Janet Renauld into the picture, his collaboration with Janet, the re-discovery of the old mission, the discovery of _her _true identity...it had _all _been part of her design.

And soon it would all culminate in one confrontation. One moment. A moment of reckoning...for her or for him, he didn't know. But it was time he found out.

ooo

Bourne was coming.

The anticipation chilled Illyana's spine. She realized she was sweating. All those years of planning, of training...everything was coming down to this moment.

_I have faith in you...You will destroy the Chameleon even if I fail. Do not disappoint me._

She tightened her grip on her Beretta handgun. A look of steely determination etched itself across her features.

_You know where to aim, don't you child?_

_Yes father_, she said to herself. _I know where to aim._

ooo

Bourne found the basement door. It was a large wooden double-door, more befitting of a banquet hall than a basement. But the blueprints he had studied earlier _did _indicate that the basement of the villa was substantially large..._almost _the size of a small banquet hall.

So this was the battlefield she had chosen, he thought with grim determination.

The sweat dripped down his face as he crouched by the door...tensed...hyperaware of his surroundings...every muscle taut...every fibre of his being prepared for war...

Silently, he began his countdown.

_Three...two...one...NOW!_

In one instant, Bourne kicked open the double doors, hurled the smoke grenade into the centre of the room, and somersaulted inside. In the next instant he looked up, and noted the position of the mercenaries in the room. By the time the first man had begun to notice his presence, Bourne aimed his Sig Sauer at the man's head and fired twice in rapid succession. Through the smoke, he could hear the sounds of other gunshots...one narrowly missed his temple by a few millimetres. He could vaguely make out the outline of the second gunman and fired twice in that direction, before charging forward.

And then, as he emerged from the dissipating cloud of smoke, _she _appeared, like an apparition...

Illyana Angelique Sanchez.

The first thing that Jason noticed was her striking resemblance to her mother, the late Angelique Villiers. The same shoulder-length black hair, the same bronzed skin, the same beautiful features...She looked to be in her early thirties, and was attired in a tight-fitting black bodysuit, which he guessed was Kevlar reinforced.

But what struck him the most were her eyes...the black dead eyes of a killer..._Carlos' _eyes...

"Jason Bourne", she said. Her voice was again, devoid of accent. She stared at his face and he stared back. He saw a coldness in her face that mirrored his own. "We meet at last".

Jason looked past her and noticed something which both relieved and alarmed him at the same time.

Jamie and Allison. They were standing at the back of the room. Terrified, surrounded by two armed mercenaries, but _alive_.

And on the other side of the room, half-conscious and collapsed into a chair was Janet.

_Janet_...what was _she _doing here?

"As you can see, your momentary bravado notwithstanding...I decidedly have the upper hand", said Illyana, in a matter-of-fact tone. "So why don't you lower that weapon of yours", she said.

Bourne lowered his gun and almost simultaneously, Illyana raised hers. There were mercenaries covering both the kids and Janet. He was, for all intents and purposes, checkmated.

"Illyana", he said. "Your...war...is with me. Let Janet and the kids go".

"Wars seldom remain exclusive to warriors, Bourne. You of all people should know", said Illyana. "Your war was with my father", she continued. "But somehow, I got caught up in it...just like _your _children are caught up in it now. And unfortunately for you, _they_ aren't decoys".

"You don't have to do this", he said. "You didn't have to follow your father's path".

"I didn't _have _to...but I _chose_ to...with a little help from you", she said. Then, her features hardened, and for the first time there was a hint of emotion in her voice. A hint of...anger.

"You killed my mother..._that _made all this easier to do!"

"I didn't kill your mother", Bourne said. He knew this was a futile exercise, but he felt compelled to answer; to try and reason with this woman whose fate he had inadvertently shaped. "I framed myself to lure your father out into the open".

"Liar", she spat. "Come now, Bourne...you didn't really expect to deceive me with such pitiable excuses".

"No, I didn't expect you to believe me", said Jason. "And honestly, it doesn't matter one way or another. Your mother _deserved _to die. She was a spy...she seduced a great man, an honourable man, to steal state secrets from him...in her own way, she was responsible for hundreds of deaths. And your father...infinitely more".

"Your parents were _both _killers", he continued. "And the world is a better place without them...I won't deny it. But _you_...you didn't have to go this way, Illyana. You had money, a whole world in which to find your place...you could have gone anywhere, become _anyone_...you didn't have to be the assassin's daughter".

"I became 'Maria Gonzalez'...but all _you _saw me as was the assassin's daughter...perfect bait for your perfect trap", said Illyana

He could not find the words to deny that...there was far too much truth in her words.

Jason looked into her face and saw much of what he had deduced in the past few days. A girl born to less-than-ordinary parents, having a less-than-ordinary upbringing, whose fear and paranoia upon being made a target, combined with her grief and anger at her mother's death, had been exploited by her father to transform her into the perfect killer. He could not but help marvel at Carlos' genius...perverse as it was.

And yet, even as he stared at her, he could not but help notice a fundamental flaw in Carlos' design. True, he had successfully trained his daughter in tradecraft and the skills of death. True, he had imparted to her a considerable portion of his intelligence and his cunning. True, he had inculcated in her a deep-rooted desire for vengeance. But there was yet one missing element...a _critical _flaw which, if he played his cards right, would prove the downfall of Illyana Sanchez...

Her emotions.

Emotions were the greatest liability on the field. It was why psychological conditioning was such an integral part of the training of clandestine operatives. Emotions engulfed one's mind at the least opportune moment, warped one's perceptions, and dulled one's senses.

If the legendary Carlos had had one weakness, it was his ego. It was what Alex Conklin and David Abbott had capitalized upon all those years ago. It was Carlos' ego which had led him to relentlessly pursue Jason Bourne across Europe, showing his hand where once he would have remained invisible. It was when Carlos had been driven half-insane by anger and ego, that Bourne had successfully manoeuvred him into the trap which cost him his life.

And on Illyana's face too, Bourne could see glimpses of emotion, struggling to break free from the surface of icy calm. He could see anger and grief...but also a feeling of insecurity. It was almost as though, after years of coldly planning this moment, Illyana felt shaken by being in the very presence of the man she wanted to kill. It was almost as though she was afraid she could not live up to her father's perverse expectations of her.

Yes, he thought coldly, he had found the answer.

He felt only a passing regret at the fact that she would not make it out of this alive. But then again, he'd always known that was a virtual impossibility. He'd allowed himself to nurse a feeble hope perhaps as a means of atoning for what he'd done to her; but here and now, in the middle of a battlefield, reason and not hope would have to prevail.

"Have I rendered the great Chameleon himself speechless?" Illyana taunted. "I thought a scholar like you would devour these philosophical discourses on the nature of death and vengeance...but I suppose breaking necks and pulling triggers is all you can _remember _now".

She was taunting him; just like she'd been taunting him with the childishly ludicrous messages and threat. It only served to convince Jason of the feasibility of his strategy.

"You're right", he said suddenly, forcefully. "You _have _rendered me speechless", he said. "I came here expecting to find some great mastermind, worthy enough to be Carlos' successor...but all I found was a stubborn little girl crying for Mommy and Daddy", he said with a bitter laugh, echoing Tremont's words to him. "Your father was the most dangerous assassin in the world...but _you_, you're not even worthy of being Carlos' _servant_...let alone his _daughter_", he shouted.

"You forget that _I _am the one holding the gun, Bourne", she spat out, visibly enraged by his last comment. "I can splatter your brains across this room in the very next _instant _should I choose!"

"I've had guns pointed at me by much better men..._professionals_...and I've survived. You honestly think you can do better?" he taunted her. He continued, "Did your father tell you what _really _happened in New York? He had me trapped in a house, with a small army of his soldiers...and fifteen minutes later, _he _was the one who turned tail and fled...fled like a _rabbit_!"

"You _lie_!" Illyana screamed in rage. Jason noticed her gun hand shaking. Good, he thought. His strategy was working!

He briefly glanced at the back of the room. His children were standing, looking both terrified, and bewildered. Janet was now very much conscious and observing their verbal duel with curiosity and surprise. But the reaction of Illyana's soldiers was the most interesting to behold. Having virtually forgotten their hostages, they were standing there, mesmerized at the verbal exchanges between him and Illyana, at least two of them looking uncertain. Bourne could easily guess what they were thinking-these men were professionals; cold and calculating killer, and they were slowly but surely starting to question their allegiance to what was clearly an emotionally unstable woman.

In a strange way, Bourne's taunting of Illyana reminded him of the night of her mother's death. That night, he had needed the cooperation of General Villiers as part of his plan to lure Carlos to New York. When the old soldier, still shaken by the fact that he'd just strangled his traitorous wife, had refused, he had taunted the old soldier, to provoke him into action. The similarity ended there however; Illyana was _not _an honourable man broken by tragedy and deceit...she was the psychologically disturbed daughter of an assassin.

"Do I?" he continued. "Then why am I still alive, if you're father was a match for me? Why am I still alive even after I tried to kidnap his daughter and I killed his _whore_? _Why?_"

"You have no right..._no right_...to speak of my mother like that, you _bastard_!" Illyana screamed, gripping her gun tighter.

"Your mother was a WHORE! The whore of a killer pig!" Bourne shouted. "And you're the stupid little piglet born of their unholy union!"

"I'll KILL you", Illyana shouted.

"So you say. You've been talking about killing me for about a week now. Guess what? I'm still alive", Bourne said casually, with a wry smile.

A part of him; the machine, the spy, the _chameleon _created by Treadstone, derived a kind of detached professional satisfaction from Illyana's breakdown. And yet, the other part of him, whatever it was what remained of David Webb, or someone else undefined, was disgusted and repulsed by what he was doing. His actions had broken this woman once...and now he was in a situation where the only way he and his family would survive was if he would break her again, for the _last _time!

"You think this is a _game_, Bourne!", she said, incredulously.

"Of course! It's _all_ a game", he said in a falsely cheerful manner. "Inventing new names, hiding guns beneath your jacket, playing hide-and-seek with world-famous assassins...kidnapping the daughters of _whores_...all a nice _video _game!"

She cursed now in Spanish, "I'll _carve _your _face _out, you _pretender_!"

"You'll have to kill me first", he said, while noticing that her grip on her weapon had tightened once more, even as her grip on her sanity was slipping away. "And I've already established why that's not going to happen. You see, I'm _still _a bit of a scholar!" 

"_TE MATARE'"_, she screamed with an animal cry.

"Stop saying "I'll kill you" over and over again. You're still sounding like a six year old begging for candy!" said Jason. "If you want to do it..._go ahead_! Then you're pig of a father and whore of a mother will give you a nice little pat on the back if you make it to hell!"

It was now or never, Jason thought, gripping his own weapon tighter.

With another animal cry, her features an odd mixture of that of a wounded lion and a boisterous six your old child, Illyana fired her weapon. And fired. Again and again, letting loose all her bullets and screaming senselessly.

The moment he'd observed her finger pressing the trigger, Bourne dropped to his left, lay splayed on the floor, and after Illyana had fired four shots already, raised his own gun and with an instinct born of nearly two decades of practise, fired a shot clean into her neck.

_Just like Carlos would have_.

The blood erupted from Illyana's neck and for a split-second, she stood still, a macabre portrait of a crazed woman holding a gun, her neck flooded with red...and then she fell...

The moment their employer fell to the floor, lifeless, the mercenaries seemed to realize that they were facing an armed enemy. Bourne did not give them an instant for that realization to translate into action. Mentally thanking himself for reloading the Sig Sauer before entering the basement, he fired two shot each into the chest of the mercenaries surrounding Jamie and Allison, and then turned around and shot at the mercenaries who had just started to aim their weapons at Janet in hopes of taking her hostage again.

When all the mercenaries were dead, Bourne got back onto his feet, and rushed towards his children. "Jamie...Allison...are you alright?" he said, sweeping both his children into his embrace.

"Daddy...I knew you'll save us...", Allison said tearfully.

Jason noticed that Jamie was still staring with a mixture of fear and fascination at the corpse on the floor. "Don't worry", Jason said reassuring. "She's dead...she can't hurt you'll now".

He then made his way over to Janet and helped her out of the chair.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes I'm...I'm fine", Janet said. "Whatever they gave me...it's wearing off...". She clutched her arm in pain and stumbled.

"Easy...easy...I'll get you out of here. To a hospital", he said.

"Give me your phone first", said Janet. "I'll call in some people...for the clean-up."

"We'll worry about that later. First you need to catch your breath", Jason insisted, firmly.

Janet glanced briefly at the corpse of Illyana Angelique Sanchez. "She's _dead_", Jason said, bluntly. He tried to find within himself, a sense of closure to this nightmare, with those words...but it, like so many other things, eluded him.

"Come on...let's get out of here", he said.


	15. Epilogue

**The Bourne Vengeance**

**Epilogue**

**A/N: **This is it! The final chapter that ties everything off...

_Marseilles, France_

_One week later_

Jason Bourne stared into the vast expanse of the Mediterranean Sea.

In many ways, he reflected as he often had before, it was his birthplace. The beginning of the life he remembered. He had been reborn the night he had plunged into its depths, bullet-ridden and unconscious, only to be rescued by a fishing boat. Since then, his life had been a constant search for answers. Who he was? What he was? And perhaps most important of all-what had he _done_?

Now, he grimly thought, he had found more answers, or at the beginnings of them, and as always they raised more questions.

"Jason", he heard a familiar voice behind him.

He turned around to see Janet, smiling at him.

"Hey, Janet", he said, returning her smile.

They walked to a cafe overlooking the waterfront and sat at an outdoor table. Jason ordered them both drinks.

"How's the arm?", he asked her, indicating towards her heavily bandaged left arm.

"Healing", she said, optimistically.

A lot had happened in the past week. Madrid police, and local Interpol officers, arrived at the villa to extract the bodies. Jason presented his credentials as Andrew Franklin, American DOD operative, and answered their questions while ensuring Janet, and the kids, were swiftly rushed to a hospital. Soraya made a few calls from Washington and identified Franklin as an anti-terrorist specialist from Treadstone. In due course of time, the higher-ups at Interpol _would _perhaps discover the truth of who he really was, though Soraya assured him it wouldn't have any untoward repercussions either for him or for Janet. "Chances are, they'll want to give you a medal", she'd said half-jokingly.

The official story released to the public was that a female terrorist leader, who had engineered a hostage situation, was shot dead, along with several of her comrades, by an American anti-terrorist operative working in collaboration with Interpol. The terrorist organisation she was affiliated with was unknown, but investigations were ongoing. Jason knew that public memory, no matter what the country, was invariably short. In a blemished world where terrorism was a daily reality, the death of one unknown assassin could only hold the attention of even the most hardened news junkies for so long.

Interpol, assisted by some of Soraya's Treadstone operatives on the ground, had managed to uncover Illyana's networks in Paris, Brussels, Madrid and a number of other European cities, leading to the arrest of several of her operatives. Law enforcement agencies across the world, based on the limited intel gathered, were reopening dozens of cases, in an attempt to discern Illyana's involvement in various assassination and terrorist plots over the past several years. Janet had told him a few days back that it would likely take years before the investigations were concluded.

"What are you thinking?" Janet asked, interrupting his thoughts.

He sighed and said softly, "I'm thinking...could I have spared her?" He paused and added, "Was killing her the only option?"

"Jason", Janet said softly but firmly. "If ever I wanted someone to die, it was her. Madeline, Charles...God knows how many others...she _had _to answer for them".

"But I just can't escape the fact...that I brought all this on her", Jason said. "My war was with her father...but I got her involved...I made her a pawn in my plan all because I was tired of getting chased by Carlos' men."

"With a father like Carlos...I doubt her life would her turned out much differently either way", said Janet with some amount of certainty.

"Would it? If she didn't blame _me _for her mother's death...if she didn't know that I'd tried to kidnap her to use her as bait...would _any _of this have happened?" said Jason. "Carlos trained her, focused her anger...but did I provide the first spark?"

"You can't blame yourself for something you couldn't possibly have anticipated", said Janet. "Bottom line is that she'd threatened your family...and you needed to get rid of her...simple as that".

Bourne looked at her curiously. "What you said sounds a whole lot like what I would have said...in the old days".

"Well, over the past couple of weeks, I've come to...understand...the need for people like you to do what you'll do", said Janet.

"Becoming monsters to fight monsters", Jason muttered to himself.

He thought about his last visit to the ranch in Canada, and what he'd said to Johnny St. Jacques.

_Not all my...enemies...are madmen like Carlos. Some of them have families, loved ones, of their own. They...understand...the need for certain things to remain inviolate...as far as possible._

And yet, _he_, the man who'd already lost two children, had unhesitatingly chosen to cross that line himself. Was he really all that different from the 'madmen like Carlos' after all?

"So what will you be doing now?" he asked Janet.

"Once I'm better I'll head back to Paris. I'm heading one of the teams investigating her assassinations. I guess I'm better equipped to do that than anyone else. Besides, my father would have wanted me to see this through", Janet said. "And hopefully, someday I'll find out who killed Charles. You?"

"I'm heading back to Canada tonight...to meet the kids. After that I'll be going stateside for a while...then, who knows?" Bourne said.

They finished their drinks and got up. Janet checked her watch. "I've got to go...I've got to meet Madeline's parents. They live in Marseilles...should have gone earlier but didn't have the time".

"Goodbye", said Jason.

They shook hands and then Janet left. Jason sat at their table for a few minutes, then paid his well, and walked down along the waterfront.

The man he had been was gone, but the memories, fragmented though they were, would continue to haunt him, visit him in his nightmares. Along with the questions. Was he a monster? Was he no different from Carlos? In playing the part of a cold blooded mercenary, had the act inadvertently become reality for him?

When he had abducted the girl he believed was Carlos' daughter, had he for a moment questioned his actions? Or had he proceeded with the same cold calculation with which he'd killed numerous men?

Only his past self knew the answers...and Bourne had no way of knowing if he would ever learn them himself...

ooo

_Madrid, Spain_

_Years earlier_

Jason Bourne sat in the safehouse, in near-darkness. He held his weapon in his right hand. On the floor just beneath his chair, sat the kit filled with hypodermic syringes and various drugs, chloroform, gauze, duct tape and rope.

Martinez' men were patrolling the safehouse. Every hour, the leader of the unit would report to him. So far everything was clear. There was not a sign of Carlos anywhere. Two days...and _still _no signs. Despite all the rumours, all the clues Conklin, Martinez and Renauld had planted. They'd designed the perfect trap...but their target was nowhere in sight!

Had he misread the situation somehow? Was Carlos cold enough to abandon his own daughter?

As Jason wondered about the kind of man who would leave his children to the mercy of a ruthless assassin, he could not but help reflect about the kind of man who abducted a child to lure the father into a trap...

Ordinarily, he would seldom permit such reflections to enter his conscious mind. He was a soldier, fighting a war. He was trained, _conditioned_, to do whatever it takes to eliminate threats, active and potential, to innocents. He would not hesitate to shoot dead a terrorist, or a traitor, if it meant saving thousands of lives.

But now, in the late hours of the night, with absolutely nothing to do, he was left to his thoughts, which welled up from his sub-consciousness; the part of him that _wasn't _completely blanketed by the Bourne identity.

Renauld was right. He hadn't really given much thought to the fact that the bait for his trap was just a child; a girl who probably wasn't even completely aware of who her father was, and what it was he did that warranted her current predicament.

To him, she was a means to an end. But to her, he was a violent criminal, a brutal kidnapper who'd snuck into her room in the dead of night, threatened her with a gun, and whisked her away from her home. A man who would haunt her nightmares, possibly for the rest of her life.

Bourne had to admit to himself that he hadn't really given much thought to what would happen to the girl after. It just wasn't part of his scenario. He had viewed her, objectively and dispassionately, as a tool to be used and then disposed off.

But now, for the first time since he'd brought her here, he began to look at her, not as a tool, but as a _person_. As a _child_ he'd abducted and subjected to a nightmare.

He looked at her now, in the dim light. She was sleeping a drugged sleep. Her features were indistinct from where he was sitting. 'Maria Gonzalez' was the name on her passport, but Jason wondered what her real name was. Who was her mother? Where had she been born? What had her life been like? What kind of a relationship, if any, did she have with her father?

These questions, which had been irrelevant to his mission and thus hitherto ignored, came pouring out into his mind now.

In a strange way, she reminded him of Alyssa. Alyssa, who had been taken from him by killers; killers like Carlos and...himself?

He was a killer...Carlos was a killer...they were two master assassins racing across the globe playing their lethal chess game. Why on earth did this girl need to be dragged into the middle of it?

There was an answer. The simple unambiguous clear-cut answer in black and white.

Because she was Carlos's daughter. And she was the perfect bait for the perfect trap.

That was _all_.

And as he looked at her, he couldn't stop the words from forming in his mind. Words he would have whispered out loud to her if not for the steely reserve of the Bourne identity.

_I wish I could say I was sorry for all this, but that would be pointless. There's a price to pay for having a father like Carlos...but if it's any consolation, I wish to God you didn't have to pay it..._


End file.
